'•  ' 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 


HIS    DEAR 
UNINTENDED 


BY 

J.  BRECKENRIDGE  ELLIS 

AUTHOK  OI  "FKAN,"  "LAHOMA,"  "AGNES  OP  THE 
BAD  LANDS,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1917, 
By  THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


TO 

MY   MOTHER 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
PLATTSBURG  COLLEGE  DAYS 


The  College  walls  are  standing  yet 

But  broken  is  every  glass. 
Strange  noises  down  the  wide  halls  steal 

When  idle  breezes  pass. 

The  tyrant  bell  is  cobwebbed  o'er — 

Its  former  serfs  are  free. 
Would  it  might  ring  for  them  again 

Youth's  opportunityl 

Upstairs  a  door  swings  wide — you'd  think 

A  hand,  long  stilled,  is  there 
Beck'ning  the  feet  from  vanished  years 

Once  more  to  chapel  prayer. 

That  stain  is  where  the  old  clock  ticked 

The  slow  school-hours  away; 
How  gladly  was  their  gold  exchanged 

For  dross  of  idle  play! 

The  door  bangs — dear,  familiar  sound! 

Do  footsteps  cross  the  floor? 
One  half  expects  the  song  to  rise 

From  lips  that  will  sing  no  more. 

Past  is  not  past  in  those  speaking  walls; 

You  catch  its  faint  perfume 
When  the  shadows  take  their  old,  old  shapes 

And  the  yellow  roses  bloom. 


2135376 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTZK  P>GB. 

I.     No   Study   Is   Hard    if   a   Young  Face   Smiles 

Over  the  Top  of  Your  Book  .        .        .  13 

II.  A  True  Friend  Is  One  Who  Loves  You  With- 
out Wanting  to  Change  You  ....  23 

III.  Hold    No    Woman    an    Exception    to    Her    Sex 

Save  the  One  You  Mean  to  Marry       .        .       31 

IV.  Generally   the   Reason   You   Think    One    Man 

More    Trifling    Than    Another    Is    Because 
You  Know  Him  Better 37 

V.     If  Not  Rich  You  Must  Cling  to  Respectability      46 

VI.  If  Some  One  Dear  to  You  Has  Ditched  His 
Life,  You  Are  the  More  to  Blame  for  Not 
Keeping  Your  Train  on  the  Straight  Road  54 

VII.  There  Are  Too  Many  Towns  Swelling  Them- 
selves to  Be  as  Big  as  Oxen  When  by 
Nature  Frogs 64 

VIII.  When  Your  Hour  Comes,  Though  Life's  Game 
Has  But  Fairly  Begun,  Fate  Must  Sound 
Her  Bell 74 

IX.     Often  We  Shrink  Not  So  Much  from  the  Thing 

as  from  the  Name  the  World  Gives  It       .       85 

X.  You  Can't  Find  Out  if  You're  in  Love  by  Kiss- 
ing the  Wrong  Girl 94 

XL  If  a  Man's  Work  Stops  with  His  Last  Breath, 
It's  a  Mighty  Poor  Life  That  Hasn't  a 
Mighty  Big  Work  to  Show  for  It  .  .  105 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XII.  A  Man's  Horizon  Is  Enlarged  as  the  Years 
Lift  Him  Up;  the  Youth  Sees  Only  the 
Road  at  His  Door,  the  Mature  Eye  Glimpses 
Whither  He  Is  Bound 112 

XIII.  The  More  You  Have  the  Less  You  Need  Pay; 

the  Rich  Man  Can  Have  the  World's  Hom- 
age  Without   Spending   a   Penny  to   Get  It     118 

XIV.  The  Modern  Man  Cannot  Live  Close  to  Nature 

— Even  in  the  Garden  of  Eden  There  Came 

Up  the  Question  of  Clothes  .        .        .        .123 

XV.     No  Matter  How  Young  a  Man  May  Feel,  It's 

by  His  Looks  That  He  Gets  Measured       .     127 

XVI.     You    Can't    See    Far   Below    a    Man's   Surface 

When    His   Sky   Is   Flooded   with    Sunshine     138 

XVII.  A  Man  Is  Like  to  Starve  When  Waiting  for 
the  Ravens  to  Feed  Him,  Unless  He  Has 
Fat  of  His  Own  to  Draw  On  .  .  .  142 

XVIII.    Rob  a  Man  of  His  Chance,  and  No  One  Can 

Say  What   He   Would   Have  Done       .        .     145 

XIX.  You  May  Live  and  Die  in  the  Best  Set  of  Thit 
World  with  No  Assurance  of  Getting  into 
the  Upper  Circles  of  the  Next  .  .  .158 

XX.  Bend  Your  Energies  to  Getting  All  You  Can 
Out  of  Life,  and  There'll  Be  Mighty  Small 
Leavings  for  Somebody  Else  .  .  .  170 

XXI.  Though  We  Sing  and  Dance  in  the  Light, 
Then  Pass  Away,  Other  Voices  Will  Catch 
Our  Songs,  and  Our  Children  Will  Love 
the  Sunshine  on  the  Grass  ....  176 

XXII.  If  You  Don't  Believe  in  a  Fourth  Dimension, 
Try  to  Measure  Womankind  by  Length, 
Breadth  and  Thickness 185 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 
XXIII. 


We  Judge   a   Man   by   His  Kin,   but  Ask   the 

World  to  Judge  Our  Kin  by  Ourselves       .     191 

XXIV.  Sometimes  You  Mistake  Something  Else  for 
Your  Soul,  Which  Is  One  Danger  About 
Being  a  Soul  Mate 197 

XXV.     Public  Opinion  May  Be  Won  if  You  Go  Court- 
ing  It   with    a    Full    Purse    ....    205 

XXVI.     It  Doesn't  Take  a  Wise  One  to  Call  a  Man  a 

Fool  After  He's  Caught  in  His  Folly  .        .     213 

XXVII.     No  One  Who  Lives  to  Please  Others  Is  Ever 

Pleased  with  Himself 217 

XXVIII.     To  Measure  a  Man's  Promises,  Get  the  Tape 

Line    of    His    Past    Accomplishments    .        .    226 

XXIX.     There's    More    Eloquence    in    a    Yellow    Rose 

Than  in  a  Congressional  Record  .        .        .     232 

XXX.     Watch  the  Man  Who  Doesn't  Want  to  Be  Seen     241 

XXXI.     Feed  Them  the  Same  Politics  and  the  Lion  and 

the  Lamb  Will   Lie  Down  Together  .        .     249 

XXXII.     It  Doubles  Daring  to  Believe  What  You  Hope     256 

XXXIII.  Better  Unite  Under  a  Poor  Leader  Than  Fol- 

low a  Dozen  Wise  Counsels  .        .        .        .    263 

XXXIV.  When    a   Man   Is   Wedded    to   Sorrow,    Good 

Luck  Seems  a  Temptation  to  Unfaithfulness    272 
XXXV.     A  Man  Is  Not  Disarmed  So  Long  as  He  Has 

a  Winning  Tongue 277 

XXXVI.  Man  Has  Never  Understood  Woman;  She 
Was  First  to  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  and 
She  Picked  Out  the  Apple  for  Him  to  Eat  284 
XXXVII.  I  Have  Never  Been  So  Thrilled  as  When 
Alone  with  Myself,  Turning  Over  a  Won- 
derful Thought 290 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXXVIII. 


And   When    I    Looked    at    Her    I    Loved    Her, 

Although  There  Was  a  Broom  in  Her  Hand     293 

XXXIX.     If  an  Inherited  Tendency  Breaks  Out   in   Our 

Lives,  It's  Because  We  Left  the  Gate  Open     296 

XL.  "Realism"  Is  to  Enjoy  the  Good  Things  of 
Life  from  the  Money  You  Make  by  Writing 
Books  to  Show  That  Life  Is  a  Vale  of  Tears  308 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 


No  Study  Is  Hard  if  a  Young  Face  Smiles  Over 
the  Top  of  Your  Book 

THAT  night  the  beat  of  the  rain  and  the 
clang  of  hammers  roused  such  mad  echoes 
from  the  rafters  that  the  big  door  opened  un- 
heard. When  the  rush  of  warm  damp  air  stopped 
our  work  at  the  anvils,  she  was  already  inside,  the 
dusty  door  shut  behind  her,  and  the  light  from 
the  swinging  lantern  showing  her  against  the 
deep-red  background  as  a  black  wedge  of  mys- 
tery, its  white  bit  of  laughing  face  challenging 
solution. 

We  were  working  so  late  to  catch  up  with  early 
summer  orders  that  the  opening  of  the  horse-door 
would  in  any  case  have  been  surprising;  but  for  a 
young  girl  to  blow  in  at  midnight  made  the  sur- 
prise an  Event.  I  don't  know  what  Bill  did,  but 
I  poised  my  hammer  as  if  turned  to  stone  while 
with  all  my  eyes  I  tried  to  take  her  in — which  I 
couldn't  do,  for  all  she  was  so  slender. 

13 


14          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

She  wore  what  amongst  us  men  goes  as  a 
"slicker,"  though  like-enough  the  name  softens 
to  French  with  change  of  sex — a  long  rubber  wa- 
ter-proof with  a  tight  neckband.  Over  her  head 
was  a  covering  of  the  same,  held  across  her  cheeks 
by  her  wet  hand  that  nothing  might  be  seen  but 
eyes,  nose  and  mouth. 

For  a  full  minute  I  left  the  talking  to  the  driv- 
ing rain,  then  asked,  "Do  I  know  you,  young 
lady?" 

"Nobody  knows  me,"  she  gasped  with  an  odd 
wrinkle  of  her  little  nose. 

She  might  have  said  more — surely  more  was 
needful — if  her  breath  hadn't  altogether  failed. 
With  shoulder  pressed  against  the  doorpost,  she 
panted  hard  to  get  it  back  again. 

Laying  down  the  hammer  I  asked,  casual,  hop- 
ing by  due  caution  to  lead  her  to  the  point  she 
had  shied  from,  "Do  you  want  to  speak  to  Bill? 
He's  very  busy." 

I  was  firm  but  not  unkind,  for,  on  first  meeting 
any  woman,  a  man  never  knows  what  part  she 
may  play  in  his  life. 

"I've  nothing  to  say  to  her,"  says  Bill,  red  and 
defiant,  for  I'd  kept  him  new  and  raw  as  to 
women,  owing  my  own  ease  and  boldness  when 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED  15 

thrown  among  them  to  my  dealings  with  his  poor 
mother. 

The  white  line  of  her  face — so  very  white 
against  the  red  door — was  turned  full  upon  Bill. 
I  looked,  also,  and  was  glad  to  see  him  so  big 
and  clumsy,  and  to  note  how  his  natural  good 
looks  were  disguised  by  grease  and  tar,  and  how 
his  bared  arms  and  shoulders  and  towsled  hair 
were  as  a  bulwark  against  any  maid's  fancy. 

"But,"  she  gave  Bill,  quick  and  decided,  "I've 
something  to  say  to  you,  Bill  Attum!" — which 
made  me  turn  with  the  queerest  feeling  to  exam- 
ine her;  and  when  I  caught  the  sparkle  in  her 
dark  eyes,  fear  crept  like  a  chill  through  my  veins. 
And  a  thought  was  shaken  down  from  the  tree 
such  as  roots  itself  in  every  man's  brain,  reaching 
up  into  cloudy  spaces.  Here  was  the  thought: 
that  she  had  looked  right  through  Bill's  grime  and 
patches  to  the  gold  in  his  lower  stratum. 

At  her  explosion  he  stared  open-mouthed,  and 
under  her  steady  gaze  I  think  he  felt  pleasure — 
an  uncomfortable  pleasure,  to  be  sure,  bringing 
his  legs  to  his  attention,  but  making  him  glad  to 
be  there. 

I  grew  severe,  for  she  was  too  pretty  for  half- 
way measures:  "I  judge  you  haven't  a  name?" 


16          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

"At  times — "  she  moved  her  shoulder  toward 
me,  but  gave  her  eyes  to  Bill — "however,  to- 
night I  left  it  at  home." 

I  couldn't  help  smiling  at  that,  and  there  was  a 
little  laugh-shake  in  my  voice  as  I  said,  "No  use 
looking  at  Bill,  then,  for  he  carries  his  about  with 
him,  and  a  very  good  name,  too,  if  I  do  say  so  my- 
self. When  he's  of  age  he  means  to  share  it 
with  a  certain  friend  of  mine  who  also  has  a  name ; 
and  as  he's  nineteen  now,  I  fear  youVe  come  too 
late!" 

I  nodded  to  Bill  to  blow  up  the  fire,  and  as  he 
stumbled  only  once  getting  to  the  bellows,  I  knew 
the  night-wanderer  had  as  yet  done  him  no  great 
harm.  Hammering  away,  I  tried  to  figure  out 
which  of  our  wild  young  set  she  might  be — for  in 
Mizzouryville  the  people  are  separated  and 
marked  in  sets  as  distinct  as  the  china  in  the  gro- 
cery stores.  Of  course  I  know  all  the  heads  of 
families  in  town,  but  since  my  poor  wife  died — 
the  only  thing  she'd  done  since  our  marriage,  I 
take  it,  that  she  didn't  want  to  do — my  look  and 
word  were  for  only  such  women  as  had  husbands 
— I  mean,  until  the  time  now  reached. 

The  little  stranger  said  in  a  pleading  tone  that 
if  we  didn't  mind  she'd  dry  her  hands  at  the  fur- 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED  17 

nace;  and  when  Bill  saw  her  coming,  the  way  he 
scurried  to  the  farthest  end  of  the  shop  must  have 
pleased  any  father.  As  for  dear  life,  he  began 
hammering  away,  though  I  knew  very  well  the 
life  had  gone  out  of  his  horseshoe. 

Burying  my  bar  amongst  the  glowing  coals,  I 
looked  disapproval  of  any  girl  being  out  in  rain 
and  wind  at  midnight,  no  matter  from  what  old 
settler  descended;  but  without  being  discomposed, 
she  pulled  off  her  rubber  hood,  letting  it  hang 
down  her  back,  the  raindrops  glistening  in  its 
folds.  The  furnace-glow  smote  her  in  the  face, 
showing  a  great  mass  of  brown  hair  that  the  hood 
had  mussed  up  just  enough  to  look  natural ;  it  was 
like  finding  a  friend  lingering  in  the  hall  after 
the  rest  of  the  company  have  called  good-by  from 
the  gate — yet  I  was  now  sure  I'd  never  seen  her 
before. 

With  a  quick  step  I  put  myself — and  there's 
more  than  two  hundred  pounds  of  me — between 
that  living  picture  and  my  boy.  But  I  wasn't 
quick  enough.  Bill  had  caught  sight  of  her  face 
painted  in  rose  tints  by  the  dusky-edged  flames; 
and  against  her  long  cloak,  shimmering  silver- 
like  where  the  light  spangled  it,  he  could  see  her 
little  hands  seeming  to  melt  smaller,  while  he 


1 8          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

looked,  like  bits  of  snow  in  moonlight.  And  as 
straight  as  ever  a  man  walked,  he  marched  behind 
our  petition-curtain  to  the  water  and  towels. 

I  knew  the  sound  he  made  was  from  taking  the 
basin  off  its  nail,  but  she,  thinking  it  the  creak  of 
a  back  door,  looked  as  disappointed  as  any 
child  and  gasped,  "Oh  I  IVe  scared  him  clean 
away!" 

"He'll  come  back  cleaner,"  which  she  didn't 
understand  till  my  words  were  illumined  and  em- 
bossed by  as  bright  and  handsome  a  young  fel- 
low's face  as  Mizzouryville  had  to  show — and  of 
other  towns  I  know  little. 

She  gave  him  a  steady  look  which  did  the  poor 
lad  no  good,  then  turned  to  me  with,  "Stick, 
you're  so  sorry  I've  come  1"  Now  there  was  a 
grace  and  tenderness  in  her  look  and  tone  that 
touched  my  heart,  not  because  she  was  right,  per- 
haps, but  because  she  was  woman,  though  as  to 
that  I've  had  the  feeling  that  sometimes  it's  right 
for  a  woman  to  be  wrong.  Of  course  I  permit 
none  but  an  old  settler  to  call  me  by  my  first  name, 
but  I  didn't  draw  into  my  shell.  If  a  man's  bear- 
ing can't  speak  louder  than  shirtsleeves  and  a 
leather  apron,  there's  no  use  throwing  "Mister" 
at  strangers.  But  I  gave  her  these  words,  very 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED  i^ 

clear-cut  and  rounded  that  she  might  catch  them 
easily : 

"I  can't  approve  of  eighteen-year-old  girls 
streaking  about  the  country  with  their  names  left 
at  home;  and  while  I'm  as  hospitable  as  the  next 
man,  I  must  say  short  that  the  rain  that  brought 
you  here  won't  make  you  any  wetter  when  it  takes 
you  away."  And  I  fell  to  hammering  with  all  my 
might,  for  I  couldn't  get  all  my  meaning  into  mere 
words. 

Bill  called  out,  "She  said  she  had  something  to 
say  to  me — well,  I  want  to  hear  it." 

She  pointed  her  hand  at  him  in  a  way  to  make 
him  red  and  restive,  and  spoke  with  snap  and 
push :  "I  don't  want  you  to  spend  your  life  with 
an  apron  across  your  knees.  I  don't  want  you  to 
be  counted  as  just  one  more  man  in  the  village.  I 
don't  want  you  shoeing  horses  for  other  people 
to  ride.  The  world  needs  the  best  that's  in 
every  one,  and,  Bill,  you're  not  giving  it  your 
best." 

She  flashed  her  starry  eyes  as  if  to  probe  his 
depths,  and  just  then  she  seemed  bigger  than  Bill. 
He  looked  at  me,  furtive,  but  I  wouldn't  bear  him 
a  hand.  I'd  been  hurt  by  her  words  but  I  thought 
they  should  be  duly  considered.  Of  course  when 


20          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

my  time  should  come  to  sit  on  Old  Settlers'  Bench 
with  my  legs  crossed  and  my  mind  free,  I  hoped 
Bill  would  be  running  the  shop.  Yet  I  had  pro- 
tested when  he  stopped  school,  though  like-enough 
not  strong  enough,  since  it's  hard  to  argue  against 
one's  interests.  But  this  girl  had  a  face  that  could 
hare  kept  him  to  his  books.  The  upward-draw- 
ing quality  of  it  would  have  made  the  ghast- 
liest chart  in  physiology  a  dream  of  rosy  loveli- 
ness. 

Seeing  I'd  deserted  him,  Bill  did  what  he  could 
alone:  "I  don't  think  any  work's  dishonorable. 
I  got" — he  was  one  of  the  slowest-speaking 
boys  I  ever  knew — "tired  of  ...  school,  and 
tired  of  ...  studying,"  he  changed  to  his  other 
leg,  "and  tired  of  ...  books." 

"Tired!"  She  snatched  the  word  from  his 
mouth  and  flung  it  under  her  feet.  But  instead  of 
stamping  upon  it,  she  walked  back  to  the  furnace, 
her  way  of  moving  her  body  saying,  "But  what's 
the  use !" — which  had  more  weight  than  a  ton  of 
oratory.  And  until  I  put  the  finishing  touches  to 
my  job,  she  stood  watching  the  dying  embers  as 
if  she'd  quite  forgotten  Bill — which  had  more 
weight  with  him  than  the  other. 

At  my  last  blow  she  gave  a  little  short  laugh, 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          21 

unwilling  but  gay  enough.  "Don't  be  angry  with 
me,  Stick."  She  sat  down  on  an  empty  box  with 
the  faint  glow  still  on  her  face.  "The  work's 
done  and  we're  not  sleepy,  are  we  ?  and  I  hope  not 
very  tired."  That  was  a  fling  at  Bill,  of  course, 
and  it  hit  him  between  the  eyes,  making  him  blink. 
"I'll  tell  you  about  myself,  to  make  you  feel 
easier.  Let's  swap  heart-secrets!"  As  she  said 
that  her  face  grew  soft  and  sweet.  "Won't  that 
be  fine?  Doesn't  matter  what  my  name  is,  if  I 
tell  you  what  I  am." 

"A  spirit,"  Bill  suggested,  and  I  wasn't  overly 
pleased,  for  he  had  never  been  forward  in  con- 
versation. He  pulled  up  a  bench  and  so  disposed 
himself  that  I  must  needs  sit  at  the  farther  end, 
and  I  took  the  place  with  a  heaviness  not  custom-1 
ary,  for  though  I  am  about  as  tall  as  Bill,  and 
better  filled  out  in  my  parts,  I  seldom  make  a 
seat  creak  as  the  bench  creaked  that  night. 

It  may  have  been  foolish  of  me  to  be  uneasy 
about  the  boy,  but  she  had  a  look  he  was  not  for- 
tified against.  But  of  course  it  never  occurred  to 
me  to  put  the  stranger  out  the  door  and  carry  off 
Bill  to  bed.  For  when  you  looked  at  that  radiant 
face  with  the  wavering  little  wisps  of  hair  burning 
up  from  her  white  brow  to  fade  away  in  darkness, 


22          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

and  when  you  considered  the  build  of  her  form — 
-every  member  so  serviceable  and  at  the  same  time 
so  exquisitely  slight,  so  soul-satisfying — when  she 
said  sit  down  you  had  to  sit;  your  knees  just 
crumpled, 


A  True  Friend  Is  One  Who  Loves  You  Without 
Wanting  to  Change  You 

YES,  I'm  a  spirit,"  she  laughed.  "And  after 
we've  taken  turns  telling  about  ourselves, 
I'll  vanish  as  a  spirit  should,  never  to  come  back." 
She  looked  hard  at  me — "Unless  you  call  me." 

I  was  so  eased  to  learn  that  her  coming  again 
rested  on  my  call  that  I  dived  into  a  full  enjoy- 
ment of  the  occasion.  "Very  good.  And  since 
Bill  and  I  stand  or  fall  together,  I'll  weave  his 
narrative  into  my  own  tale." 

"No,  father" — never  in  my  life  had  I  known 
Bill  so  heady — "every  man  to  his  own  tale." 

I  rolled  my  eyes  to  bring  him  to  order,  and  thus 
set  forth  upon  my  own  journey: 

"I'll  not  begin  with  my  name,  since  you  seem 
as  familiar  with  that  as  myself.  After  a  couple 
of  years  on  a  Mississippi  steamboat,  I  became  by 

23 


24          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

profession  and  desire  a  blacksmith.  I  can  ham- 
mer out  ideas  as  well  as  bars  of  iron,  and  I  pre- 
fer thoughts  welded  together  without  loss  of  good 
material,  struck  quick  while  hot,  and  laid  by. 
When  Bill  was  seven  his  poor  mother  died,  so 
for  twelve  years  it's  been  we  two  against  the 
world,  no  quarter  asked.  I've  read  the  smoke- 
house full  of  novels  but  have  never  found  any 
book  so  interesting  as  the  living  of  a  single  day. 
There's  my  story  without  the  lining  or  buttons 
on." 

She  leaned  forward,  eager,  cheek  propped  on 
hand.  "Does  it  ever  get  so  deadly  dull  that  you 
feel  like  turning  bandit  and  going  out  to  hold 
people  up,  or  do  anything  to  make  things  happen  ? 
Do  you  ever  get  so  crushed  by  the  loneliness,  and 

so  starved  by  the  hunger  for  friendship "  She 

waved  her  hand  as  if  driving  her  thoughts  into 
the  shadows  banked  up  beyond  the  lantern-glow. 
"No,  you've  never  felt  all  this — no  doubt  you 
have  at  least  one  intimate  friend  to  talk  to  about 
old  times." 

"So  I  have — here  he  sits  by  my  side.  Nobody 
else  knows  the  whole  long  column  of  my  nature. 
Others  have  a  few  of  the  figures,  but  the  sum-total 
is  in  only  Bill's  hands.  Years  ago  there  was  a 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          25 

man  who  loved  me  without  wanting  to  change  me ; 
sorrow  drew  us  together— our  wives  left  us  at 
about  the  same  time,  what  from  death,  or  one 
thing  and  another — and  as  each  of  us  had  a  child 
we  decided  they  should  marry  in  due  time.  When 
my  friend  died  he  left  his  land  made  over  to  Bill 
just  as  the  girl  was  made  over — though  not  so 
palpable.'* 

She  asked,  flute-notes  in  her  voice,  "How  old  is 
Bill's  intended?" 

"As  to  years,  she  has  him  beaten,  for  she's 
twenty-one;  but  as  to  wisdom,  I'd  call  it  a  tie." 

"If  any  one  loved  me" — she  clasped  her  hands, 
ecstatic  at  the  bare  idea — "I'd  give  that  person 
double  of  everything  he  asked  and  never  complain 
when  he  didn't  pay  me  back.  ...  If  I  knew  he 
loved  me.  He  needn't  tell  me  so,  he  needn't  make 
promises,  or  give  me  presents,  or  praise  my  way 
of  doing.  ...  If  I  knew  he  loved  me.  It 
wouldn't  matter  how  poor  he  was,  if  I  was  more 
to  him  than  anybody  else  in  the  world;  I'd  say, 
'Take  me — I'm  fortune  enough  for  you  I' '  She 
flung  her  arms  wide  in  invitation,  then  remem- 
bered where  she  was  and  laughed,  embarrassed, 
as  if  we'd  heard  her  talking  in  her  sleep.  She 
apologized:  "A  girl  can't  help  wondering  if 


26          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

she's  worth  caring  for,  when  nobody  cares  for  her. 
Well,"  she  sighed  deep,  "it's  fine  for  Bill  to  know 
there's  a  girl  waiting  for  him" — and  she  added 
with  a  flash — "even  if  she  is  older  than  he  is!" 

"In  all  this,"  my  son  spoke  gruff  and  ready, 
"there's  too  much  Bill,  and  my  turn  hasn't  come." 

She  took  up  her  story:  "I  live  with  my  uncle 
and  the  Companion — she's  that  by  the  job,  not  by 
nature — poor,  dried-up,  always-solemn  Compan- 
ion— she  never  knew  how  to  soak  dry  crusts  of 
facts  for  a  little  girl's  taste.  Uncle  likes  nothing 
but  to  hide  from  the  world  in  his  downtown  office, 
so  I'm  alone  all  day  in  a  big  house  where  there 
are  no  trees  or  birds,  where  no  one  ever  comes  to 
see  me.  And  all  the  time  I'm  longing  to  be  a 
neighbor  to  somebody,  wanting  it  so  hard  that  it 
gives  me  a  deep  pain" — she  touched  her  heart — 
"down  here;  but  I'm  a  stranger  to  all  the  world." 

"Why  not  begin  on  the  folks  next  door?"  I 
asked,  reaching  for  something  practical.  "As  a 
rule  they're  no  meaner  than  those  around  the 
block." 

"I  haven't  told  you  the  dreadful  thing,"  she 
locked  her  hands  about  the  rubber  cloak  where 
it  made  a  silver  letter  "U"  at  her  knee,  and  looked 
at  me  with  wide  eyes  full  of  strange,  beautiful 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          27 

lights  such  as  are  not  kindled  in  Mizzouryville 
eyes.  "There's  something  in  me  that  my  uncle 
can't  understand,  nor  the  Companion  for  all  her 
languages — a  craving  for  anything  out  of  the  com- 
mon." Her  voice  grew  deep  and  serious.  "It's 
in  my  blood.  Or  else  it's  come  from  always  be- 
ing shut  up  in  that  house  with  the  city  calling, 
calling  in  a  thousand  voices.  Wherever  it  came 
from,  it  burns  like  a  fever.  Once  I  told  Uncle 
and  he  was  terribly  frightened — called  me  wick- 
ed for  putting  it  into  words,  as  if  it  were  a  thing 
I  could  help !  But  to-night,  as  Bill  says,  I'm  a 
spirit,  just  flitting  about.  I  can  see  you're  un- 
easy about  me,  but  I'm  just  as  safe  in  the  open 
as  when  locked  up.  And  oh,  I'm  free,  to-night — 
I'm  free!" 

She  started  up,  swinging  her  arms,  and  Bill 
dodged.  That  made  her  laugh  and  she  sat  down 
again,  crossing  her  feet  with  the  sole  of  one 
propped  against  the  hard  dirt  floor,  and  the  other 
softly  playing  along  it  sidewise  in  a  way  to  make 
me  feel  young  and  no  doubt  to  make  Bill  feel  he'd 
gathered  up  the  years  for  himself  that  I'd  cast 
aside. 

"Uncle  let  me  come  to  Mizzouryville,  knowing 
it's  a  dead  little  place,  but  there's  no  place  so  dead 


28          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

that  seeds  of  adventure  won't  thrive  in  it.  And 
this  is  an  adventure  out  of  the  common,  every 
minute  of  it — I  come  and  go,  hugging  my  free- 
dom like  an  escaped  prisoner.  It  makes  the  blood 
dance  and  tingle." 

"Yes,  it  does,"  cried  Bill,  and  he  worked  the 
bellows  till  the  picture  she  made  was  inlaid  in 
yellow  gold ;  and  the  prettier  she  looked  the  more 
I  marveled  that  her  strict  uncle  had  consented 
to  her  wild  whim. 

After  a  silence  that  was  full  of  the  music  of 
gurgling  rain,  she  said  low  and  sad,  "Now  it's 
time  for  the  spirit  to  be  laid.  Do  you  wonder, 
Stick,  how  I  knew  I  could  trust  you,  or  how  my 
adventure  began?  If  you  want  to  know — if  you 
want  to  see  me  again,  just  write  a  line  to  say  come, 
and  I'll  come  to  you." 

"And  me,"  says  Bill,  lonesome. 

"Come  to  the  campus  of  the  old  deserted  Col- 
lege"— she  very  properly  ignored  Bill — "and 
put  your  note  in  the  little  hollow  under  the  second 
step  of  the  stone  stiles.  And  it  must  be  in  a 
week's  time,  for  after  that  I'm  going  away,  never, 
never " 

"Don't!"  cried  Bill,  desperate.  "It  seems  to 
end  everything  when  you  say  that." 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          29 

She  laughed.  "And  now,  Bill,  tell  your  story; 
your  turn's  come." 

"Mine  is  going  to  be  the  longest  of  all,  for  I'm 
full,  just  brimming  full  of  what  I  want  to  say  to 
you."  There  was  no  drawl  in  his  voice  now  as 
he  stood  up  straight,  squaring  his  broad  shoul- 
ders. I  looked  at  him  hard — yes,  it  was  Bill,  all 
right;  for  a  second  it  had  come  to  me  that  may- 
hap I  was  dreaming.  He  looked  so  purposeful, 
so  bright  and  resolute,  that  for  a  moment  I  won- 
dered if  an  orator  were  to  be  developed  before  my 
eyes.  Just  for  a  moment,  though.  He  was  al- 
most bursting  with  what  he  desired  to  make  clear, 
but  he  lacked  the  cunning. 

Not  another  word  did  he  say.  But  instead  of 
laughing  at  him,  the  little  stranger  showed  a 
thoughtful  gravity  mighty  sweet  to  see  on  a  face 
so  young.  And  as  if  she  had  got  his  message  by 
tongueless,  she  met  his  eyes,  but  couldn't  match 
them,  for  hers  fell  at  once — and  a  color  came  to 
her  cheeks  as  if  she  found  her  adventure  good 
exercise. 

Quick  and  vivid  as  a  flame  she  started  away,  and 
with  a  hand  outstretched  to  hold  us  where  we 
were,  darted  to  the  big  door  and  was  lost  in  the 
night. 


30          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

The  June  rain  dashed  against  the  roof  and  gur- 
gled in  the  pipes  in  the  good  old  sleepy  way,  and 
the  lights  and  shadows  chased  each  other  among 
the  rafters  and  along  the  shavings-littered  floor  as 
they  had  played  in  my  boyhood.  The  little  spirit 
had  come  out  of  wind  and  rain  and  was  gone  with 
no  movement  on  our  part  to  keep  her,  and  only 
the  damp  trail  from  door  to  furnace  to  prove  her 
visit.  And  yet,  oddly  enough,  the  things  about  us 
wore  a  strange  look  to  my  eyes,  though  as  fa- 
miliar as  the  earth  underfoot,  for  when  I  stared 
at  Bill  a  mist  seemed  floating  between  us,  and 
there  was  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  a  part  of 
him  I  couldn't  see. 


Ill 


Hold  No  Woman  an  Exception  to  Her  Sex  Save 
the  One  You  Mean  to  Marry 

THE  next  morning  at  breakfast  Bill's  pleased 
surprise  (an  emotion  ever  denied  the 
cook)  showed  he'd  forgotten  we  were  to  have 
mackerel,  though  he's  seen  me  put  it  to  soak  the 
night  before.  That  proved  his  a  straying  mind, 
but  I  seemed  to  take  no  notice,  just  set  the  dish 
between  us  with  the  fish  spread  wide,  the  thin, 
delicate  part  next  me,  and  the  butter  melted  to  a 
yellow  brook  amongst  the  silvery  sandbars.  It 
was  when  I  reached  for  the  piping-hot  cornbread 
— without  which  a  mackerel  is  but  a  sounding 
cymbal — that  I  began  my  discourse,  speaking  as 
it  were  into  the  air: 

"If  plunged  over  your  head  in  strange  experi- 
ences, seek  footing  from  books  of  capable  and 
well-worded  authors.  Son,  when  an  innocent  girl 

31 


32          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

leaves  her  home  in  the  books  in  the  smokehouse 
to  seek  life  or  service  in  the  city,  the  publisher 
might  as  well  throw  in  a  five-cent  handkerchief 
with  his  volume  for  such  as  have  tears  to  shed. 
I  have  a  dozen  novels  to  prove  that  if  the  girl's 
young  and  pretty,  to  the  bottom  she  must  sink 
when  her  skirts  get  heavy  in  the  stream  of  her 
adventure.  The  first  flashily  dressed  young  man 
she  meets  takes  her  to  a  restaurant — good-by! 
Of  course  if  the  wanderer  is  a  young  man,  it's 
otherwise ;  he  doesn't  get  caught  up,  made  love  to, 
and  then  cast  aside.  And  suppose  it  were  so? 
He's  a  male  and  can  go  about  his  business  with  a 
free  mind.  A  girl  doesn't  get  a  knowledge  of  life 
till  it's  too  late  for  her  to  use  it.  Therefore,  the 
less  we  think  about  what  happened  last  night, 
the  better  for  you  and  me  and  the  world  we 
live  in." 

He  said  with  a  tremor  in  his  earnest  voice, 
"Remember  the  look  in  her  eyes?" 

I  felt  a  twinge  of  remorse  as  her  face  seemed 
to  rise  before  me,  but  my  iron  was  hot  for  the 
forging  and  I  hammered  away:  "Son,  a  young 
girl's  feet  aren't  shaped  to  make  paths  for  them- 
selves, but  to  follow  the  first  bold  man  who  tells 
her  she's  pretty  and  sweet." 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          33 

He  spoke  very  slow.  "I've  been  thinking  it 
over.  Books  I've  never  read  unless  forced,  so  I'm 
not  up  on  smokehouse  principles.  But  I  don't  be- 
lieve the  general  run  of  men  are  wolves;  and  a 
sensible  girl  is  no  more  a  helpless  lamb  than  she's 
an  oyster.  Which  some  are  as  dumb  as,"  he  add- 
ed, not  overly  happy  in  his  phrasing.  He  knew 
he  didn't  sound  just  right,  but  he  hurried  on, 
breathless,  "If  girls  are  fools  as  a  rule,  that  girl- 
out-of-the-common  is  a  shining  exception." 

"I'll  give  you  the  general  rule,"  I  said,  seeing 
I  must  speak  sharp  and  clean-cut.  "Pretty  girls 
can  no  easier  pass  through  the  frosts  of  life  un- 
wilted,  when  without  family  protection,  than  our 
early  beans  can  get  through  the  spring  uncovered 
on  the  coldest  nights.  More  than  that,  you  have 
no  right  to  think  any  girl  a  shining  exception  to 
her  sex,  except  the  girl  you're  bound  to  by  sacred 
engagement.  I  mean  Laidie  Hightower,  your  fu- 
ture wife." 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  he  agreed,  hasty  and 
red.  And  not  another  word  till  he  stood  to  aid 
me,  tea  towel  in  hand.  I  thought  him  properly 
subdued.  If  not  brought  to  his  senses  by  my  ref- 
erence to  Laidie,  surely  the  dish-cleaning  was 
enough  to  sober  him,  it  being  that  depressing  to  a 


34          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

mettlesome  spirit — for  woman  in  the  kitchen  and 
man  in  the  shop  is  nature's  law. 

But  of  a  sudden  he  said,  coaxing  and  soft,  just 
as  if  all  my  speech  had  been  wind  too  high  above 
his  head  to  stir  his  hair:  "And  this  is  what  I 
would  like,  father:  to  write  her  the  nice  little  note, 
just  as  she  said,  and  put  it  under  the  step  of  the 
old  College  stiles." 

I  was  so  contracted  by  surprise  that  the  handle 
of  a  teacup  came  clean  off  in  my  grip. 

"She's  here  all  alone,"  he  went  on,  infatuated. 
"And  though  she  lives  with  her  uncle  and  the 
governess,  she's  felt  alone  all  her  life.  I'd  like  to 
give  her  an  adventure,  as  that's  what  she  loves. 
Let's  invite  her  to  a  little  party;  it  couldn't  hurt 
us,  and  it'd  be  kind  to  her." 

I  threw  the  cup-handle  out  the  door  where  the 
chickens  came  to  peck  at  it  with  about  as  much 
sense  as  Bill  was  pecking  at  his  idea.  And  I 
pressed  my  lips  tight  shut  as  I  went  on  washing 
the  dishes. 

Such  was  his  desire  to  cover  the  ground  before 
I  stopped  him  that  he  threw  himself  forward  with 
rare  speed,  leaping  from  phrase  to  phrase  as  one 
springs  along  railroad  ties:  "And  invite  Laidie 
and  her  grandfather.  And  have  a  nice  little  sup- 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          35 

per.  Music  on  the  organ,  later.  And  talk  and 
talk  and  look  at  the  photograph  albums — and 
everything !  I  want  Laidie  to  know  her.  I  think 
Laidie  will  be  glad  to  pick  up  some  ideas.  It 
would  simply  be  great,  for  me.  I'd  see  how  a 
city  girl  acts  in  a  parlor.  I'd  take  notes.  Father, 
let  me  tell  you:  After  our  talk  last  night  I  felt 
I'd  been  lifted  up  in  the  air — could  see  farther 
than  I'd  ever  seen  in  my  life — clear  beyond  Miz- 
zouryville  County." 

"I'm  afraid  it  made  you  dizzy,"  said  I,  pointed. 
After  awhile  I  swallowed  hard  and  added,  "Prom- 
ise me  not  to  write  any  such  note  till  I  say  the 
word." 

"Why,  I'm  not  going  to  write  that  note — 
you're  to  do  it  for  us  both." 

Which  made  me  feel  easier,  for  you  could 
build  on  Bill's  word  as  on  the  living  rock.  As 
we  left  for  the  shop  I  told  him  I'd  think  it  over* 
and  asked  if  it  was  my  way  to  oppose  his 
wishes. 

"But,"  he  said,  "I  never  before  had  a  wish  so 
deep-bedded  and  durable.  When  I  get  to  think- 
ing of  that  girl  wanting  to  be  a  neighbor  to  some- 
body, with  me  right  here  anxious  to  be  neigh- 
bored, I  get  perplexed  at  the  way  life  keeps  wishes 


36          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

apart  I  stayed  awake  most  of  last  night  both- 
ering over  my  feelings." 

"Don't  bother  any  more,"  I  said,  growing 
more  and  more  uneasy  the  choicer  he  grew  in  his 
words  and  sentiments.  "It  shall  be  just  as  you 
wish.  We'll  write  to  the  girl-out-of-the-common, 
and  invite  her  to  our  uncommon  party." 

For  I  wasn't  so  perplexed  as  Bill  about  his 
feelings.  And  I  knew  there's  nothing  such  feel- 
ings feed  on  so  ravenous  and  nourished  as  ob- 
stacles. That's  why  I  said,  easy  and  indifferent, 
"It  shall  be  just  as  you  wish."  I  wouldn't  leave 
him  any  fences  to  climb.  If  I  had  set  him  to 
climbing,  nothing  could  ever  have  stopped  Bill, 
he  was  that  proud  of  difficulties. 


IV 


Generally  the  Reason  You  Think  One  Man  More 
Trifling  Than  Another  Is  Because  You  Know 
Him  Better 

ALL  morning  we  were  as  busy  as  could  be, 
and  we  hurried  through  dinner  (twelve, 
sharp)  and  laid  the  dishes  by  to  be  cleaned  with 
those  from  the  supper-table  by  the  bulk — for  it 
was  never  our  way  to  dampen  tea  towel  oftener 
than  needful.  As  soon  as  I  had  Bill  safe  at  the 
shop,  with  a  horse  on  three  legs  demanding  of 
him  a  bent  back  and  lip  steadied  between  cautious 
teeth,  I  took  time  off  to  climb  the  hill.  I  wanted 
to  learn  something  about  the  girl-out-of-the-com- 
mon  and  if  news  had  ripened  to  a  full  crop  I 
knew  it  was  to  be  gathered  in  front  of  Lane  Lac- 
lede's  grocery.  Under  the  big  glass  window  (in 
which  nothing  was  ever  displayed  that  you  wanted 
to  buy)  and  at  the  edge  of  an  iron  grating  in  the 

37 


38          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

sidewalk  (that  accommodated  a  man  with  a  quid 
in  his  cheek)  there  stood  as  hard  and  uncomfort- 
able a  wooden  bench  as  ever  plagued  the  human 
form.  From  that  free  bench  the  day's  happen- 
ings were  served  forth  seasoned  to  taste,  inso- 
much that  I  suppose  I  had  not  read  a  county  pa- 
per for  fifteen  years. 

"Loafers'  Bench,"  some  called  it,  but  Old  Set- 
tlers' Bench  I  like  better.  There,  weather  per- 
mitting, you  found  Laidie's  grandfather,  Van  Bu- 
ren  Hightower — long  since  we'd  balked  at  the  full 
name,  and  "B"  was  all  we  gave  him:  and  that 
dried-up,  thin-voiced,  childless  widower,  Jim  Bob 
Peterson,  his  farm  going  to  weeds  and  rotting 
fences;  and  Taggart  Gleason,  dressed  like  a  pub- 
lic lecturer,  his  pretty  young  wife  doing  the  toil- 
ing and  spinning  at  her  millinery  shop  whilst  we 
considered  how  he  grew,  and  his  daughter,  al- 
most as  young  as  her  step-mother,  anywhere  but 
at  home.  And  on  that  bench  you'd  find  handsome 
young  Lane  Laclede  unless  a  customer  forced  his 
unwilling  legs  behind  the  counter — in  which  event 
some  one  was  usually  ready  to  grab  his  place,  Doc 
Snaggs,  maybe,  or  red-headed  Curd  Tooterflail. 

They  or  their  fathers  had  helped  my  father 
lay  out  Mizzouryville  and  I  honored  them  accord- 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED  39 

ingly.  Faults  they  might  have,  and  grievous,  but 
I  swallowed  each  fault  with  its  man,  believing 
that  the  reason  you  find  one  man  in  a  crowd  more 
trifling  than  another  is  mainly  because  you  know 
him  better.  Nor  must  I  forget  to  mention  that 
old  reliable,  Captain  Little  Dave  Overstreet, 
whom  I  generally  do  forget  because  he  is  so  old. 

Knowing  I  could  spend  but  a  few  moments 
idling,  whereas  they  took  a  day  for  it  with  no  visi- 
ble means  of  support,  they  began  at  once  impart- 
ing their  news.  Except  for  the  owner  of  the  store, 
I  was  twenty  years  younger  than  the  youngest  on 
Old  Settlers'  Bench,  but  I  had  so  made  myself 
a  piece  of  their  cloth,  matching  myself  on  the 
garment  of  their  content,  that  our  colors  ran  in- 
timate and  similar. 

"Stick,"  says  Taggart  Gleason,  the  only  man 
there  who  smoked  cigars,  for  his  hard-working 
wife  never  stinted  him,  "have  you  run  across  an 
escaped  inmate  from  the  state  asylum?"  And  he 
rubbed  his  bald  place  with  his  hatbrim,  always 
a  sign  that  he'd  been  forced  out  of  his  customary 
cool,  fishy  calm. 

"Let  me  tell  it!"  piped  up  Jim  Bob  Peterson. 
"Nothing  never  happens  to  me  and  I  ain't  got  no 
energy  to  start  things.  I  get  so  languid  when  I 


40          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

think  of  working  my  farm — languid  was  my  birth- 
mark  " 

"Shut  up,"  says  Captain  Little  Dave  Over- 
street,  good-natured  but  final.  "Cork  your  bot- 
tle!" For  you  either  had  to  stop  Jim  Bob  or 
leave  the  bench,  his  speech  was  that  woody  of 
growth. 

"Last  night,"  Gleason  said,  seeing  in  my  eye 
that  if  he  didn't  tell  it  at  once,  there'd  be  a  gone 
blacksmith,  "while  it  was  raining,  which  it  did 

five-eighths  of  an  inch "  He  waited  to  let 

some  one  dispute  it,  for  he  was  as  strong  on 
statistics  as  weak  on  principles,  and  so  loved 
facts  and  figures  that  behind  his  back  he  was  often 
called  "Old  Datty." 

We  disappointed  him  and  he  went  on:  "I  was 
on  my  front  porch  reproving  my  wife  for  not 
having  had  the  leak  in  the  shingles  mended,  and 
as  she  was  sewing  in  the  back  room,  I  raised  my 
voice  as  a  man  may  to  his  wife." 

"Now,"  said  I,  "your  groundwork's  laid;  go  to 
building."  I  disliked  that  man  almost  as  much 
as  Lane  Laclede  did,  but,  as  he  was  an  old  settler, 
I  let  him  pass. 

"I  don't  know  why  it  is,"  says  Jim  Bob,  com- 
plaining as  usual,  "but  nobody'll  ever  listen  to  my 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          41 

stories.  By  the  time  my  groundplan  is  laid  my 
listeners  is  disorganized " 

"Cork  up!"  sings  out  Captain  Little  Dave. 
There  was  an  old  man,  but  useful. 

"Of  a  sudden" — Gleason  kept  on  rubbing  the 
top  of  his  head — "a  crazy  girl  jumped  right  at  me 
looking  awful  wild.  I  thought  she  was  going  to 
tear  my  eyes  out.  She  poured  forth  the  insanest 
words  I  ever  heard  in  my  life.  Now,  statistics 
tell  us,  based  on  the  data  relative  to  the  demented, 
that " 

"She  told  him,"  spoke  up  Lane  Laclede  from 
the  doorway,  enjoying  himself,  "that  he  crammed 
himself  full  of  useless  data  so  he  could  dispute 
from  morning  till  night.  And  that  it's  a  shame 
to  the  town  the  way  he  lets  his  wife  work  while 
he  never  turns  his  hand  to  so  much  as  carrying 
in  a  bucket  of  water." 

"I've  lived  to  be  ninety  and  aim  to  grow  old- 
er," commented  Captain  Little  Dave,  "but  apart 
from  the  invention  of  steamcars  and  telephones 
what  we're  made  so  sick  of  in  Thanksgiving 
sermons,  nothing  curiouser  ever  drifted  my 
way." 

"It's  awful  strange,"  said  Laclede,  who  never 
missed  a  chance  to  prod  at  Gleason's  thick  hide, 


42          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

"that  nobody  heard  the  girl  but  Taggart.  Not 
but  what  we  could  all  swear  to  the  truth  of  the 
story,  the  words  of  the  wild  girl  being  so  convinc- 
ing, such  as  would  never  have  reached  Taggart's 
mind  but  from  the  outside." 

Laidie's  grandfather  didn't  move — just  looked 
at  me  calm  and  knowing.  Ever  since  his  stroke 
he'd  been  safeguarding  himself  from  the  second, 
for  the  doctor  said  the  third  would  kill  him  and 
the  doctor  was  sober  when  he  said  it. 

"When  I  got  over  my  freeze,"  Gleason  went 
on,  "I  called  for  help  and  ran  after  the  creature 
to  have  her  put  in  irons,  but  she  got  away.  Wait, 
Stick,  I  haven't  told  the  worst.  This  very  girl, 
calling  herself  'Miss  Cereus,'  was  one  of  that  bevy 
of  strange  ladies  who  came  to  town  a  week  ago 
to  take  teachers'  examination.  For  that  full  week 
she'd  been  boarding  in  my  house,  as  tractable  as 
a  lamb,  yes,  sir,  eating  at  my  very  table.  And 
then  of  a  sudden  a  screw  gets  loose  and  she  falls 
to  pieces  like  that — heaping  bitter  abuse  upon  me 
because  I'm  not  at  the  millinery  shop  with  my 
wife  sitting  here  on  the  bench !" 

"She  spells  her  name  C-e-r-e-u-a,"  Jim  Bob 
offered.  "Taggart  says  so." 

"I  guess  she's  Rooshun,"  said  Van  Buren,  very 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          43 

slow  and  cautious.  "All  of  them  is  off,  more  or 
less,  from  the  books  they  write." 

"The  word  isn't  Russian,"  and  Taggart  Glea- 
son  cleared  his  throat  and  put  on  his  hat  and 
crossed  his  legs  for  business.  "The  etymology  of 
the " 

I  went  back  to  my  shop.  There  was  a  part  of 
Gleason's  account  that  I  liked,  a  part  I  didn't, 
proving  it  true — for  when  a  story  goes  smooth  it's 
because  it  is  in  a  book,  and  that  book  not  the 
Bible.  Suppose  I  invited  that  girl  to  come  to 
Bill's  supper-party  to  have  her  telling  each  his 
failing  as  she'd  told  Gleason  and  as  she'd  told 
Bill;  it  might  not  give  Laidie's  grandfather  his 
second  stroke,  but  it  would  surely  stir  up  Laidie. 

When  I  related  to  Bill  what  I'd  heard,  he 
laughed  and  laughed;  but  he  got  no  spark  from 
me.  "It  wasn't  funny  when  the  shoe  was  pinch- 
ing your  foot,"  I  said. 

He  grew  as  solemn  as  a  judge.  "I'm  glad  she 
woke  me  up — I'm  glad  she  roused  my  ambition." 

I  saw  I'd  gone  too  far,  so  I  went  back  without 
waste  of  time.  "Very  well,  son,  I'll  learn  to-night 
from  Laidie  if  she  and  B.  will  come  to  your  party; 
and  if  so,  I'll  write  the  wild  creature  an  invitation 
for  to-morrow  evening." 


44          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

His  face  glowed — I'd  never  seen  him  look  so 
handsome  and  that  drew  my  attention  to  the  fact 
that  though  working  in  the  shop,  he  was  as  clean 
and  polished  and  tuned-up  as  any  fiddle. 

"As  you  seem  to  be  wearing  your  Sunday 
clothes,"  I  was  mild  but  pointed,  "you  might  go 
along  with  me  to  visit  Laidie  and  learn  her  de- 
cision." 

"I  believe  not" — that  boy  always  hung  back 
from  regular  visiting  at  his  sweetheart's  house — 
"but  I'll  be  enjoying  myself  while  you're  there. 
I  never  knew  before  that  I  was  such  good  com- 
pany. And,  father,"  he  went  on,  artful,  "when 
you  talk  to  Laidie,  don't  call  our  guest  the  girl- 
out-of-the-common,  for  Laidie  despises  any  sort  of 
mystery.  Just  say  she's  one  of  the  new  teachers." 

"I  very  much  doubt,"  said  I,  "if  she'll  consent 
to  meet  her,  however  called." 

He  sighed,  but  still  looked  far  too  animated 
to  appear  natural.  "Father,  when  you  don't 
know  what  to  do,  pull  in  your  oars  and  drift. 
I've  been  thinking  all  day,  and  there's  the  result 
of  my  worryings." 

I  told  him  that  for  so  much  digging  he  had  got 
a  mighty  small  nugget.  I  said,  "If  you  want  any- 
thing in  this  world,  you  must  plant  the  seeds  to 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          45 

raise  it.  Drifting  won't  get  you  anywhere,  and 
listen  to  me,  son:  If  that  girl  with  the  free 
tongue  and  name  left  at  home  is  anything  to  you 
but  the  beauty  of  a  flower  in  a  stranger's  gar- 
den, the  world  and  your  own  conscience  will  hold 
you  to  account." 

"When  you  don't  know  what  to  do,"  he  said, 
grim  and  tenacious,  "just  pull  in  your  oars  and 
drift." 

So  I  pressed  my  lips  tight  shut  and  would  not 
say  another  word.  For  when  I  find  a  man  with 
that  sort  of  burr  sticking  to  him,  I  keep  clear  for 
the  sake  of  my  own  coat. 


//  Not  Rich  You  Must  Cling  to  Respectability 

AS  soon  as  our  coal-oil  lamps  were  dispensing 
that  odor  you  smell  in  our  village  when 
a  day  is  dead,  and  while  those  few  families  who 
had  "put  in  electric  light"  were  yet  sitting  in 
darkness — being  on  meters — I  sallied  forth  to 
invite  Laidie  and  her  grandfather  to  our  supper- 
party. 

They  lived  at  that  time  on  the  street  that  runs 
downhill  from  the  business  center  and  widens  near 
my  shop  for  the  wagon-road  to  run  under  the 
railroad-trestle.  Four  rooms  their  cottage  had, 
besides  the  stand-to  kitchen,  and  no  make-believe 
of  sham  windows  that  the  attic  was  anything  but 
empty  space  to  give  the  roof  slant.  The  yard 
was  so  steep  that  the  east  end  of  the  front 
porch  was  flat  on  the  ground  while  the  other 
end  was  as  high  as  a  man's  head,  and  many  a 

46 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED  47 

time  as  a  youth  of  twenty  had  I  coaxed  Laidie 
— then  only  two  or  three — to  jump  thence  into 
my  arms. 

The  porch-door  opened  directly  into  the  front 
room,  Laidie's  folding-bed  in  a  corner,  the  organ 
in  another,  and  behind  the  door,  loaded  with  pho- 
tographs to  keep  people  at  bay,  the  parlor-chair 
I  had  laid  by  from  once  tilting  myself  back  on  its 
rear  legs. 

I  found  her  sewing  beneath  the  swinging  lamp, 
its  dangling  prisms  making  a  rainbow  halo  over 
her  glossy  black  hair,  while  in  his  rocker  sat  Van 
Buren  Hightower,  his  spectacles  on  his  forehead 
and  his  gaze  on  the  past.  I  never  went  there 
when  they  weren't  glad  to  see  me,  and  now  each 
cried  welcome,  the  cries  ringing  true  to  my  heart 
like  familiar  bells. 

Van  Buren  rose  slow  and  cautious,  gripping  his 
armchair,  and  beaming — but  remembering  his 
stroke.  Tall  and  thin  he  was  with  a  mass  of 
white  hair  poorly  cultivated  and  lines  on  his  face 
such  as  troubles  cut  deepest.  His  outer  garments 
were  neat,  for  Laidie  regularly  laid  them  out  for 
him  of  mornings  duly  brushed,  he  getting  into 
whatever  came  handiest — but  as  to  his  shirt,  in 
that  he  slept,  therefore  beyond  her  jurisdiction; 


48          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

and  one  could  see  from  his  linen  that  no  street 
sprinkler  drives  past  Laclede's  grocery. 

I  nodded  at  B.  to  sit  down  again — we  men  of 
Mizzouryville  seldom  shake  hands — then  turned 
to  Laidie,  feeling  that  if  I  didn't  prove  a  natural 
born  ambassador,  Bill's  cause  was  lost.  She  had 
that  air  of  always  being  the  same,  such  as  puts 
you  at  home  with  wholesome  people,  and  a  friend- 
ly cheerfulness  that  gives  away  smiles  for  noth- 
ing; and  it  was  because  she  was  so  staid  and  de- 
pendable that  I  doubted  her  willingness  to  fly  a 
kite  in  any  wind  of  adventure.  Moreover,  her  be- 
ing fleshy  to  a  degree  that  often  caused  her  to  re- 
pine though  never  to  diet,  seemed  to  give  her 
character  solidity.  Heavy  she  was  not,  either  in 
movement  or  mind;  but  in  form  and  substance, 
yes;  and  in  her  views  of  propriety? — That  I  was 
to  learn. 

I  said  Bill  and  I  were  thinking  of  having  a  lit- 
tle supper-party  with  them  at  table  and  only  one 
other  guest. 

"Brother  Wane?"  queried  Van  Buren,  mention- 
ing our  minister. 

"Nay,  nay,  B.,"  said  I,  succinct;  "there'll  be  no 
bone  of  discord  brought  to  my  table  as  long  as 
there's  any  other  meat.  When  the  preacher  isn't 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          49 

at  my  elbow  begging  me  to  come  to  Sunday  school, 
he's  sending  a  committee.  But  I'll  never  set  foot 
in  the  church  while  an  organ  is  being  played  there. 
An  organ  in  the  parlor  and  a  calf  in  the  barnlot, 
but  neither  in  the  house  of  God."  And  my  con- 
science feels  so  uplifted  when  church  instrumental 
music  is  the  theme  that  I  could  have  talked  on  for 
an  hour. 

He  asked,  "Is  it  one  of  the  boys  from  Loaf- 
ers' Bench?  I  hope  not  Jim  Bob  or  Taggart 
Gleason  or " 

I  cut  him  short,  knowing  he'd  eliminate  all  the 
crowd,  for  it's  only  on  the  bench  that  the  old 
settlers  best  tolerate  each  other. 

Laidie  gave  that  gay  smile  that  always  made 
me  think  of  calicanthus-bloom  because  on  the  day 
I  discovered  that  she  was  no  longer  a  little  girl 
to  be  lifted  in  my  arms,  she  wore  some  dusky  red 
buds  pinned  to  her  dress.  And  she  said,  "We'll 
come  to  your  party,  even  if  the  other  guest  is 
Giles  Flitterfled,  himself  I" 

Giles  Flitterfled  was  the  highwayman  who  had 
robbed  more  banks  and  express-cars  than  I  can 
remember,  yet  had  never  been  caught.  His  fa- 
ther, long  since  dead,  was  one  of,  our  very  first 
settlers,  and  though  we  were  ashamed  of  his  son's 


50          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

deeds,  we  couldn't  help  being  proud  of  his  es- 
capes. For  there's  something  within  that  beats 
quicker  over  a  successful  man  in  a  low  line  than 
a  failure  in  a  high. 

I  told  her  that  the  other  guest  was  a  young  lady 
— a  stranger.  But  when  I  tried  to  explain,  cas- 
ual, that  we  knew  nothing  of  her  family,  she  was 
baffled.  Her  eyes  opened  very  wide — soft  and 
black  they  were,  to  match  her  hair;  she  was  a  per- 
fect brunette  such  as  I  admire,  being  of  that  or- 
der myself.  I  stumbled  on  with  the  little  I  knew 
of  the  girl-out-of-the-common,  but  with  not  a  word 
about  Gleason's  tale,  and  wound  up  by  offering 
Bill's  opinion  that  she  might  like  to  take  some 
notes  of  the  night-wanderer. 

"You  don't  know  her  people,  you  don't  even 
know  her  name,"  Laidie  summed  up,  gentle  but 
firm.  "I  can't  come,  Stick,  but  I'll  send  Grand- 
pa." 

"Yes,  I'll  be  there,"  says  B.,  eager.  He  was 
interested. 

"We  couldn't  have  a  party  with  only  one  lady," 
I  maintained,  "for  adding  a  man  won't  add  pro- 
priety. Bill  has  taken  it  greatly  to  heart  that  you 
should  join  us  from  the  sheer  love  of  adventure." 

"But  I  don't  love  adventures,"  she  gave  me, 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          51 

uncommonly  fixed.  From  the  first  I'd  felt  the 
blow  coming,  but  Bill's  wishes  had  got  into  my 
eyes,  half-blinding  them  to  what  had  to  be.  I  ar- 
gued away,  my  words  cogent  enough,  but  I  didn't 
dare  present  the  strange  girl  as  one  of  the  teach- 
ers, lest  Van  Buren  raise  his  voice  about  Glea- 
son's  "crazy  creature,"  and  I  wanted  no  Old  Set- 
tlers' Bench  gossip  to  make  my  protegee  ridicu- 
lous. I  faced  defeat;  and  when  defeat  isn't  dig- 
nified it's  disgraceful. 

I  bore  away  as  soon  as  I  could  with  politeness, 
and  hurried  home,  finding  the  yard  almost  pitchy 
dark,  as  it  always  is  without  a  moon,  it's  so  far 
from  the  corner  electric  arc;  and  there  was  poor 
Bill,  anxious  for  my  news. 

"Son,  I  had  to  beat  a  retreat,  but  I  haven't  lost 
a  single  man." 

"If  she  won't  come,  you've  lost  everything,"  he 
gave  me  back  from  a  throat  so  dry  that  it  rubbed 
his  words  hard  at  the  edges. 

When  I  buy  a  load  of  corn  I'm  not  to  be  cheat- 
ed by  a  wagon  scandalously  berimmed  with  heavy 
mud;  in  like  manner,  in  weighing  a  man's  speech 
I  know  how  to  cast  aside  the  extra  burden  of  un- 
duly-charged emotion,  and  I  answered  mild — my 
heart  always  felt  the  prick  when  he  got  a  splinter 


52          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

in  his  hand:  "I've  lost  nothing  worth  the  having, 
son,  for  you  have  Laidie  as  lovely  and  kind  as 
ever.  As  I  watched  her  sewing  there,  so  light 
of  foot  and  glossy  of  hair,  though  too  stout,  I 
grant  you,  for  a  fashion-plate,  I  said  to  myself, 
'Why  go  hunting  adventures  when  happiness 
stands  at  the  door?'  Pray  heaven  she'll  have  pa- 
tience to  wait  for  you  till  you're  twenty-one !" 

He  returned,  impatient  and  restive,  "She'll 
wait,  all  right.  But  what  are  we  to  do?" 

"As  to  which,  Bill?" 

"As  to  seeing  the  little  Spirit  again?  For  see 
her  I  must — and  talk  to  her,  and  .  .  .  and  learn 
things." 

Then  I  spoke  plain:  "Bill,  Laidie  was  willing 
to  break  bread  even  with  Giles  Flitterfled,  but  not 
with  a  nameless  wandering  girl,  for  some  things 
— I  mean  social  things — can't  be  tolerated.  Giles 
is  a  bandit,  a  train-robber,  a  bank-robber,  I  grant 
you;  but  he's  a  male  and  there's  where  nature  has 
drawn  the  line.  You  and  I,  Bill,  are  bound  to 
keep  ourselves  within  the  deadline  of  Respecta- 
bility. Within  that  line  you  can  act  however  bold 
and  lawless;  but  across  that  line  you  dare  not  set 
your  foot.  If  we  were  rich  it  wouldn't  matter 
what  business  we  followed;  but  as  we  aren't,  it 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          53 

does.  Our  station  in  the  best  society  comes  purely 
from  ours  being  an  old  settler's  family;  that  gives 
us  a  rank  that  can't  be  gainsaid,  but  we  need  every 
foot  of  ground  we've  got  to  stand  on,  and  having 
no  superfluous  territory,  we  can't  trim  margins 
like  the  rich  and  college-bred.  If  we  don't  cling 
to  respectability,  we're  going  to  fall." 

"Oh,  damn!"  he  burst  out,  violent  and  lusty, 
"damn  respectability!" 

Then  a  cool  little  voice  smote  on  our  ears  like 
the  sharp  tinkle  of  snapping  icicles — "Wait,  Bill, 
don't  say  another  word."  And  from  the  shelter 
of  our  giant  lilacbush,  Bill's  "spirit"  materialized. 


VI 


//  Some  One  Dear  to  You  Has  Ditched  His  Life 
You  Are  the  More  to  Blame  for  Not  Keeping 
Your  Train  on  the  Straight  Road 

I   DON'T  know  how  much  you've  overheard," 
I  said  stiff  enough,  trying  to  make  out  her 
face  in  the  dark;  but  I  was  sorry  I'd  been  uncom- 
fortable when  she  answered  in  a  voice  that  trem- 
bled almost  to  breaking: 

"I  heard  it  all.  A  horrid  man  saw  me  slipping 
past  the  light  on  the  corner,  and  he  tried  to  catch 
me — so  I  hid  here  in  the  bushes;  and  after  you 
got  to  talking  I  hoped  every  minute  you'd  go  on 
in  the  house  to  let  me  run  away,  so  I  kept  still. 
But  when  Bill  began  saying  things,  I  didn't  know 
how  far  he'd  go,  and  I  had  to  speak  out.  If  he 
hadn't  done  that,  you'd  never  have  known  I  came 
to  hide  in  your  yard,  for  when  people  don't  want 

me,  I  don't  want  them  .  .  .  and "    The  piti- 

54 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED  55 

ful  voice,  trying  so  hard  to  be  strong  and  inde- 
pendent, broke  down  completely  under  its  weight 
of  disappointment. 

I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  In  the  starlight  the 
softness  and  whiteness  of  her  face  brought  an 
ache  to  my  heart,  and  the  girlish  slimness  of  her 
figure  took  the  breath  from  my  mouth.  I'd  had 
ten  years  of  married  life  and  as  many  of  freedom, 
but  it's  only  in  the  books  in  the  smokehouse  that 
a  man  of  forty  is  nerve-killed  to  the  pangs  of 
youth.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  my  duty  to  look  after 
Bill,  the  tears  on  her  cheeks  might  have  dissolved 
my  last  grain  of  worldly  prudence.  The  way  that 
sweet  presence  seemed  to  expand  delicious  fra- 
grance though  common  sense  told  you  it  came 
from  the  locust  trees,  and  the  way  that  honey- 
perfume  seemed  tangled  up  in  the  tender  young 
grass  at  her  feet  was  one  of  nature's  mysteries 
such  as  I  gave  up  trying  to  solve  when  a  mere  lad. 

Bill  said,  husky,  but  determined,  "Somebody 
does  want  you.  I  do.  I  need  you,  because — I 
need  you  because  .  .  ." 

If  he  could  explain  that  "because,"  I  knew  he'd 
progressed  farther  than  my  worst  fears.  But  no ; 
he  was  at  a  stonewall,  with  no  experience  to  guide 
him  to  the  gate. 


56          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

I  stepped  closer  to  the  lilacs.  "Young  lady,  I 
understand  that  you  came  to  town  to  try  for  a 
teacher's  certificate,  but  left  your  boarding-house 
after  giving  Taggart  Gleason  a  piece  of  your 
mind.  I  think  none  the  worse  of  you  for  that; 
but  when  a  girl  roams  the  world  unattended,  no 
matter  how  maiden-tender  and  maiden-shy,  she 
wears  out  other  things  than  her  shoes." 

"Somebody  does  want  you.  I  do."  This  was 
Bill  putting  in  his  oar. 

I  couldn't  see  her  expression,  but  from  her 
lighter  tone  I  knew  Bill  had  wrought  more  with 
his  few  words  than  I  with  my  speech.  "Then 
Laidie  refuses  to  meet  me  because  I've  left  my 
name  at  home?" 

"Just  so.  She'd  as  soon  think  of  drinking  from 
an  unlabeled  bottle  in  a  drugstore  as  taking  up  a 
girl  without  a  family  label." 

"Is  that  so?  And  just  to  think" — her  soft 
voice  warned  me  that  a  claw  was  about  to  scratch 
— "just  to  think  that  Bill's  Intended  is  a  girl  like 
that,  and  yet  that  Bill  can  say  'damn!' ' 

I  began  to  shake  but  put  on  great  pressure  to 
hide  it,  for  often  my  great  bulk  betrays  me  when 
a  thin  man  can  hide  a  laugh  behind  a  face  as 
blank  as  a  cellar-door. 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED  57 

"Stick" — of  a  sudden  her  hand  was  on  my 
arm,  and  her  words  were  rushing  over  me  like  a 
strong  wind — "you  are  no  stranger,  for  I  heard 
of  you  at  my  mother's  knee.  She  was  one  of  your 
schoolmates  here,  years  before  the  college  was 
closed — and  I've  heard  Uncle  tell  about  you. 
That's  why  I'm  not  afraid  to  trust  myself  to  you." 
She  gave  me  a  pat,  then  stepped  back  and  said, 
casual:  "But  of  course  I  always  go  well-armed!" 

I  couldn't  help  murmuring,  "Great  fathers 
alive!"  Just  then  a  thought  fell  ripe  from  my 
thought-tree  and  burst  open  into  capable  words: 
"My  dear,  let  us  take  you  back  home;  we'll  make 
it  all  right  with  your  uncle  about  your  rashness. 
But  if  you'd  rather  we  wouldn't  know  where  you 
live,  we'll  put  you  aboard  your  train,  and  bid  you 
good-by  as  good  friends." 

"Or  better  still,"  Bill  spoke  up,  "we'll  go  with 
you  to  your  city,  and  put  you  on  a  street  car  with- 
out trying  to  find  out  where  your  uncle  lives." 
Now,  at  that  time,  Bill  had  never  been  to  a  city; 
but  he  made  as  bold  with  his  "street  car"  as  if  it 
were  a  hay-wagon. 

She  moved  away  to  rest  her  elbows  on  the  top 
plank  of  the  low  fence,  and  Bill  absently  plucked 
the  grass  where  she  had  been  standing.  She  said, 


58          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

wistful  and  despondent,  "I  wonder  if  you  could 
understand  me?  Nobody  else  does."  And  she 
drooped  her  head.  I  was  glad  some  lads  ran  past 
the  gate  whooping  at  fox-and-hound,  for  their  be- 
ing abroad  seemed  to  lend  a  sort  of  sanctity  to 
us  three  standing,  visiting  in  the  dark  night. 

Suddenly  she  raised  her  head  and  spoke  eager 
and  protesting:  "Think  of  somebody  as  differ- 
ent as  possible  from  the  Intended;  well,  that's 
Me.  You  might  call  me  the  Unintended,  for  I'm 
not  cut  out  by  anybody  else's  pattern.  Am  I  to 
fold  my  hands  and  crush  myself  into  a  mold  that 
doesn't  fit  because  people  think  girls  should  be 
'maiden-tender  and  maiden-shy'?  I  want  to 
branch  out  and  up;  I'm  as  interested  in  life  as 
if  I  were  a  man.  What  the  world  thinks  a  girl 
should  be  isn't  my  concern;  my  part  is  to  be  the 
girl." 

"And  I  think  you're  a  success,"  says  Bill,  al- 
most devout. 

For  Bill's  sake  I  remained  unbending:  "All 
this  put  into  a  plain  man's  words  means  that  your 
uncle  thinks  you  are  taking  teacher's  examination 
— while  you're  being  chased  down  dark  streets  by 
Taggart  Gleason  who  calls  you  a  mad  creature. 
I  don't  know  who  your  mother  was,  but  in  her 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED  59 

name  I  call  on  you  to  give  up  your  wild  doings 
and  let  me  take  you  back  where  you  belong." 

She  wheeled  about  like  a  flash  and  I  thought 
she  was  going  to  run  straight  out  of  our  lives,  but 
it  steadied  her  when  she  felt  the  gate-latch  under 
her  hand.  She  halted  there,  at  first  looking  back 
at  us  over  her  shoulder,  but  warming  up  as  she 
spoke,  and  turning  as  she  warmed,  till  at  the  last 
she  was  facing  us  fairly : 

"My  mother  was  terribly  wronged,  so  her  fam- 
ily thought  she  should  die  of  it — and  she  did,  for 
she  lived  by  the  world's  opinion — she  died  when 
I  was  very  young.  I  was  seven  before  I  learned 
that  I  was  expected  to  die  of  it,  too.  The  chil- 
dren in  the  streets  would  cry  after  me :  'There 
she  goes !  look  at  her !'  And  they'd  pretend  to  be 
frightened,  and  run  away,  shouting,  'Don't  let  her 
catch  you.'  I'd  find  myself  standing  deserted,  the 
forlornest  little  wretch  that  ever  stumbled  home 
to  cry  her  heart  out.  When  Uncle  started  ne  to 
school,  the  pupils  would  gather  in  groups  to  whis- 
per about  my  mother's  elopement  and  about  my 
father  till  I  had  to  leave  to  be  educated  by  a  gov- 
erness— the  Companion.  Uncle  expected  me  to 
be  crushed  by  what  had  happened  before  I  was 
born — it  had  crushed  him,  it  had  killed  my  mother 


60          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

— why  not  me?  What  right  had  I  to  be  happy? 
And  for  a  time  I  was  living  in  a  stupid,  sullen 
dream.  Then  I  worked  out  the  resolve  not  to  let 
anything  blight  my  life  that  other  people  had 
done.  Of  course  it's  the  fashion  to  let  one  act 
make  a  junkheap  of  all  the  years  that  follow.  You 
may  feed  a  hundred  hungry  mouths  without  get- 
ting the  latchkey  to  society,  but  steal  one  loaf  of 
bread  and  you're  banished  forever.  I  tell  you, 
Stick,  I've  thought  of  all  this  for  years  and  years, 
and  I  say  it's  a  cruel  shame  to  be  made  to  cringe 
for  what  I  couldn't  help." 

She  came  to  me  quivering  from  head  to  foot, 
and  grabbed  both  my  hands.  "Stick,  the  first 
thing  I  can  remember  is  mother  telling  me  about 
what  you  did  on  the  night  of  the  big  fire.  And 
Uncle  has  often  spoken  of  it.  That's  what  made 
me  brave.  For  I  am  brave;  I'm  not  afraid  of  be- 
ing in  the  dark  or  left  alone  in  deserted  houses. 
And  whatever  my  father  was,  and  whatever  he 
did,  I'm  not  afraid  even  of  that,  for  it's  not  on  my 
soul.  You  went  through  flames  when  nobody  else 
would  venture  and  you  saved  fifteen  lives,  my 
mother's  among  them " 

And  she  poured  out  words  that  made  me  hot 
and  tingling  with  noble  shame  of  a  pliable  na- 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED  61 

ture,  relating  in  detail  the  history  of  one  night  in 
my  early  manhood  which  it  would  ill  become  me 
to  repeat.  And  at  the  end,  changing  back  to  a 
cool  and  demure  young  lady,  she  added,  "My 
postoffice  box  is  still  open  under  the  College  stiles, 
but  if  you  don't  want  me  for  your  friend " 

"But  we  do,"  Bill  cried,  breathless. 

"So  does  Stick— only  he  thinks  he  has  to  be  an 
example."  And  she  gave  a  laugh  so  fresh  and 
gay  that  it  left  nothing  of  me  but  a  boy  in  the 
husk  of  a  man. 

"He  needn't  think  it!"  Bill  looked  at  me,  re- 
proachful, and  I  saw  that  if  I  lagged  in  the  course 
of  events  I  was  going  to  be  left  fatally  behind. 
So  I  threw  off  clamps  and  let  the  thrill  quiver 
throughout  my  being. 

"My  dear  child,"  I  said,  shaking  her  hands  and 
well-enough  pleased  that  all  this  time  she  had  left 
them  in  my  keeping,  "we  want  you  for  our  friend 
and  we  want  you  bad.  If  there  isn't  a  note  under 
the  stone  step  telling  you  so  in  my  best  handwrit- 
ing, by  to-morrow  night  at  furthest,  it'll  be  be- 
cause Bill  begged  me  to  let  him  do  the  writing. 
Sweet  and  tender  you  are,  whether  you  will  or 
not;  but  as  to  'shy,'  I  leave  you  the  last  word  on 
that.  I  can't  help  being  sorry  you  haven't  a 


62          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

strong  man  at  your  side  when  you  leave  us,  such 
being  my  benighted  views  of  womanhood,  but  it 
may  comfort  you  to  know  that  being  uneasy  about 
a  girl  makes  her  all  the  more  dear.  I  don't  be- 
lieve any  harm  will  come  to  you,  if  you  can  keep 
out  of  Taggart  Gleason's  path,  and  I  hope  none 
will  come  to  us."  For  I  thought  I'd  better  drop 
a  sly  warning  to  remember  Laidie.  Bill  knew 
mighty  well  what  I  meant,  and  safeguarded  him- 
self with  the  remark: 

"I  was  just  noticing  the  flowers."  And  that 
they  were  unusually  forward  with  their  odors  I 
also  had  observed  ever  since  our  little  stranger- 
friend  stepped  out  of  the  lilacs. 

After  that  we  seemed  naturally  to  drop  apart 
and  go  back  each  to  his  own  life  with  a  sweet 
taste  in  his  mouth  flavored  by  melancholy  such  as 
lingers  after  a  loved  one  has  passed  through  the 
gate.  I  could  with  pleasure  have  talked  to  the 
daughter  of  my  old  schoolmate  (name  unknown) 
till  a  much  later  hour,  had  Bill  been  elsewhere; 
but  in  every  deep  joy  of  life  it  seems  to  me  there 
is  always  a  Bill,  by  which  I  mean  a  consideration 
of  respectability  to  hamper  an  uprising  soul. 

Bill  and  I  went  to  the  front  door  opening  into 
the  sitting  room.  The  house  is  built  in  the  shape 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          63 

of  a  horeshoe  (my  idea)  Inclosing  flowerbeds  and 
a  bit  of  lawn;  and  the  other  front  door,  on  the 
west,  seldom  used,  and  more  splendid  from  its 
colored  glass,  leads  into  the  parlor.  Suddenly 
into  my  mind  flashed  Laidie's  face  so  ready  for 
smiles,  and  her  form,  large  and  comfortable,  and 
her  glossy  black  hair;  and  I  thought  the  picture 
lost  nothing  from  the  one  we  had  last  gazed  upon, 
which  pleased  me  mightily.  Bill's  "spirit"  in  her 
misty  dress,  her  faintly  sketched  face  like  a  warm 
lily  in  the  dusk,  was  but  an  incident  of  the  night, 
while  Laidie  in  her  rocking-chair  with  sewing  on 
her  knees,  was  a  permanency  for  the  faithful 
years. 

I  was  just  about  to  give  voice  to  this  thought 
when  we  came  into  the  light  of  the  sitting-room 
window,  and  I  saw  in  Bill's  hands  a  few  spears 
of  dewy  grass,  treasured  with  unusual  care. 

I  didn't  say  a  word. 


VII 


There  Are  Too  Many  Towns  Swelling  Them' 
selves  to  Be  as  Big  as  Oxen  When  by  Nature 
Frogs 

THAT  same  night  Bill  seated  himself  to  pen, 
paper,  and  dictionary,  and  with  legs 
wrapped  about  his  chair-spindles  began  a  note 
which  did  not  come  to  an  end  till  I  had  reached 
my  pillow.  He  read  it  to  me,  and  it  was  fair  and 
plain,  though  wordy.  The  next  evening  when  I 
was  trying  to  hook  my  mind,  which  was  drifting, 
to  a  book  from  the  smokehouse,  Bill  brought  me 
the  girl's  answer: 

"I  want  to  see  you  as  much  as  you  could  possi- 
bly want  to  see  me.  I  shall  give  a  party  Saturday 
evening  at  eight  o'clock,  but  you'd  better  not  tell 
the  Intended,  for  she  mightn't  let  you  come. 
Meet  me  at  the  stiles,  Stick  and  Bill,  and  I'll  con- 
duct you  to  the  Scene  of  Festivity.  I'm  making 

64 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          65 

great  preparations,  and  you  are  the  only  guests, 
so  if  you  fail  me,  there'll  be  one  awfully  disap- 
pointed little  girl  in  Mizzouryville." 

It  was  hard  to  lay  aside  the  heavy  thoughts  of 
the  real  world — for  I'd  heard  dreadful  news  that 
day — to  handle  this  delicacy  with  the  lightness 
such  cobweb  fairy  tales  require;  so  I  only  said, 
dry  and  abstracted,  "Very  well;  and  now  we'll  say 
no  more  of  such  folly,  for  I  have  a  weighty  prob- 
lem to  handle." 

And  that  problem  I  broached  with  no  mealy 
mouth  when  I  found  time,  the  next  afternoon,  to 
run  uphill  to  Old  Settlers'  Bench.  "It  has  come 
to  me,  Taggart  Gleason,"  and  I  fixed  the  white- 
shirted  loafer  with  a  stern  eye,  "that  you've  sold 
that  strip  of  land  overlooking  the  Mineral 
Springs,  the  property  in  your  wife's  name,  known 
as  the  Rockpile."  He  began  to  rub  his  head  with 
his  new  stiff  hat — he  couldn't  meet  my  gaze. 
Everybody  looked  at  us,  athrill. 

"It's  true,"  Jim  Bob  spoke  up.  "He  did  sell 
it." 

"Cork  your  bottle  1"  Captain  Little  Dave 
warned  him.  "This  isn't  your  affair  and  if  you 
don't  keep  out  you  are  like  to  be  trompled." 

Gleason  tilted  his  gold-banded  cigar  as  if  he 


66          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

saw  no  difference  between  me  and  a  gnat  like  Jim 
Bob  Peterson,  and  spoke  out  pretty  rough: 

"I'm  going  to  sell  it,  all  right.  Nothing'll  grow 
there  except  every  style  of  weed  known  to  me — 
and  I  know  all  the  ordinary  varieties."  And 
he'd  have  begun  naming  them  if  I  hadn't  cut  in 
to  ask  why  anybody  wanted  it.  He  gave  his  wide, 
fishy  grin  and  said,  "Maybe  they  think  it's  a  fer- 
tile field  for  blasting.  That's  for  them  to  say." 

"Well,  this  is  for  me  to  say" — and  I  know 
my  voice  quivered,  for  I  was  piping  hot — "this 
is  a  move  to  try  to  boom  the  Springs,  for  your 
Rockpile  overlooks  'em,  and  it's  location  that 
gives  property  value,  whether  a  piece  of  land,  or 
a  dollar  in  pocket,  or  man  in  the  next  world. 
Now,  as  I  happen  to  own  the  lot  that  the  Springs 
are  actually  on,  they'll  find  some  difficulty — but 
maybe  that's  what  they're  hunting." 

"I  don't  know  what  they're  hunting,  but  their 
ready  money  is  in  the  bank,  and  the  title  deed  is 
signed  and  in  my  desk-drawer  at  home,  and  I'll 
deliver  it  when  they  agree  to  pay  the  notary  pub- 
lic. That's  the  only  stumblingblock.  I  call  five 
hundred  dollars  for  the  Rockpile  liberal,  but  I 
won't  be  out  half  a  dollar  to  a  green  lawyer  raised 
in  our  midst  and  not  half  as  smart  as  I  am." 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          67 

And  I  couldn't  gainsay  that  a  man  is  smart 
who,  though  able-bodied  and  only  sixty,  is  kept 
in  good  clothes  and  fragrant  cigars  by  a  sweet- 
faced  wife  still  in  her  twenties.  With  such  a  brain 
Napoleon  made  his  soldiers  think  it  a  favor  to  die 
for  him.  Gleason's  brain,  of  course,  was  smaller, 
but  you  had  to  measure  it  by  the  same  yardstick. 
I  tried  to  reason  with  the  man,  to  show  him  what 
an  ill  turn  he  was  about  to  do  our  town,  but  I 
disliked  him  too  heartily  to  get  close  to  him. 
However,  I  do  not  pretend  to  reproduce  my  ar- 
guments here,  for  I  am  no  public  speaker  such  as 
tells  you  on  the  spot  what  he  said  on  such-and-such 
an  occasion,  making  it  all  up  before  your  very 
eyes,  yet  pretending  to  draw  it  from  a  well-laden 
memory. 

But  this  was  my  substance:  No  reason  could 
be  advanced  for  booming  the  Mineral  Springs 
that  hadn't  been  employed,  ten  years  before,  in 
futile  efforts  to  get  us  a  new  railroad.  And  what 
was  the  loudest  cry? — That  it  would  fill  the  town 
with  strangers,  stretching  it  to  city  proportions. 
All  the  old  settlers  had  fought  that  railroad 
scheme;  and  now  Taggart  Gleason,  just  because 
he  saw  a  chance  to  get  five  hundred  for  nothing, 
was  about  to  stultify  his  conscience. 


68          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

"Heaven  knows,"  said  I,  "there  are  already 
enough  small  towns  swelling  themselves  to  burst- 
ing to  become  as  big  as  oxen,  though  by  nature 
frogs." 

"Right  I"  cried  Captain  Little  Dave  Overstreet, 
bending  over  to  slap  his  wooden  leg.  "When  I 
hobble  to  the  old  frame  church,  remembering  how 
proud  and  firm  I  stepped  with  my  wife  by  my 
side,  it  makes  me  feel  just  like  a  boy.  Why,  I 
tread  the  same  old  string  of  rattling  planks,  or 
others  laid  similar,  and  the  weeds  grow  up 
through  the  cracks  just  as  they  did  then,  dogfen- 
nel  and  the  like,  so  that  I  never  take  a  walk 
about  town  without  smelling  my  youth.  If  you 
like  cities,  go  live  in  'em,  but  leave  dear  old 
Mizzouryville  as  I've  known  it  for  ninety  years 
where  there's  not  a  watchdog  that  doesn't  know 
the  scent  of  the  family  next  door,  or  a  pig  run- 
ning loose  that  isn't  as  safe  as  if  it  wore  the  num- 
ber of  its  sty  cut  on  its  ear." 

I  had  never  known  Captain  Little  Dave  to 
speak  so  at  length  except  when  telling  of  his  war 
experiences,  and  like-enough  I've  put  words  in  his 
mouth  spoken  by  me,  in  my  aim  to  deal  fairly 
with  one  and  all. 

Then  Lane  Laclede  stepped  before  the  bench 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          69 

and  faced  us  with  his  head  up;  and  when  I  saw 
the  glow  on  his  young  face  and  the  sparkle  in  his 
brown  eyes,  it  came  to  me  for  the  first  time  that 
our  grocer  was  an  unusually  handsome  fellow, 
and  that  for  all  his  good-natured,  easy-going  dis- 
position, there  was  fire  in  his  heart. 

"It  may  be" — I  remember  hearing  him  say 
this  as  plain  as  if  I  were  on  the  bench  of  that 
yesterday,  whittling  at  the  same  stick, — "that  I'd 
sell  more  groceries  if  the  town  were  larger,  and 
get  big  orders  from  a  tourists'  hotel,  if  built  at 
the  Springs,  and,  as  men  go,  I'm  not  very  well- 
to-do,  but  I'd  rather  move  along  in  the  same  old, 
quiet  way,  with  just  the  customers  who've  seen 
me  grow  up  from  a  kid.  And  I  want  to  say  that 
if  Taggart  Gleason  has  persuaded  his  wife  to  sign 
that  deed,  he's  no  honor  to  the  bench  I've  set  out 
here  for  you  fellows  to  cluster  on  year  after 
year." 

"If  they  started  up  a  big  new  grocery  store  on 
yon  corner  with  things  at  half-price,"  cried  Jim 
Bob,  "I'd  still  do  my  trading  with  Lane  Laclede, 
though  as  men  go  I'm  as  poor  as  a  dog  and  nearly 
sixty-five  year  old."  He  was  really  sixty-eight, 
but  I  let  it  pass,  knowing  all  of  them  were  as  let- 
ter-perfect on  the  ages  of  each  and  every  one  as 


70          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

on  the  standing  of  the  thermometer  in  the  door- 
way. 

"Well,  Jim  Bob,"  said  Van  Buren,  hoping  to 
make  peace,  for  Lane's  attitude  flurried  his  heart, 
"nobody's  going  to  make  a  living  off  of  you,  wher- 
ever you  do  your  trading."  He  spoke  good-na- 
tured, but  with  a  knowledge  of  how  accounts 
stood. 

"Anyhow,"  Lane  persisted,  looking  at  Gleason, 
"ever  since  I've  boarded  at  your  house,  and  it's 
been  three  years,  I  know  Mrs.  Gleason  has  paid 
the  taxes  on  the  Rockpile;  I  don't  believe  she'll 
permit  that  deed  to  leave  your  desk  when  I  ex- 
plain to  her  the  plot  that's  being  formed  against 
the  peace  of  this  town." 

Gleason  grew  as  pale  as  ashes,  and  his  voice 
cut  like  a  knife.  "I  have  a  wife  that  does  as  she's 
told,  according  to  Scripture.  She  signed  that  deed 
when  I  pointed  out  the  line  where  she  was  to  put 
her  name.  You've  already  done  as  much  'ex- 
plaining' to  my  wife,  if  that's  what  you  call  it,  as 
I  mean  to  stand  for,  and  you  can  hunt  you  an- 
other boarding-place." 

"I  suppose  you're  a  man  to  your  wife,"  Lane 
said,  lazy  and  soft,  "but  I  doubt  if  anybody  else 
finds  you  one.  And  as  I  put  this  bench  in  front  of 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          71 

the  store  for  men,  you'll  keep  off  it  after  to-day." 
And  he  sauntered  into  the  building,  leaving  Tag- 
gart  Gleason  like  a  stone  image  with  a  face  cut 
aslant  in  ugly  lines. 

I  was  so  stirred  by  this  scene  that  I  needed  only 
one  word  from  Gleason  to  loosen  my  tongue  re- 
garding his  contemptible  sponging  on  his  wife — 
he  and  his  daughter  idling  through  life  and  that 
good  woman  on  her  knees  to  build  the  morning 
fires,  and  with  her  needle  late  at  night  to  keep 
him  in  fine  linen.  I  walked  up  and  down  in  front 
of  him  several  times  with  my  eyes  boring  on  his 
face,  but  he  wouldn't  thrust  forward  any  remark 
to  pry  open  the  door  of  my  just  indignation.  So 
I  went  away  dissatisfied,  feeling  that  I  was  car- 
rying home  a  load  that  did  not  belong  to  me. 

Late  Saturday  evening  I  saw  the  lawyer  going 
to  Taggart  Gleason's,  with  Jim  Bob  Peterson  in 
the  offing,  as  usual,  after  news.  Not  long  after  that 
along  came  Richard  Purly,  an  upstart  newcomer,  a 
man  no  older  than  Lane  Laclede,  who  had  been 
amongst  us  as  assistant-cashier  at  the  bank  only 
seven  years,  having  come  here  from  the  East,  di- 
rect— a  young  sprig,  unmarried,  connected  in  no 
way  with  the  old  settlers,  yet  having  in  his  head" 
ideas  of  what  he  called  "town  improvement." 


72          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

The  instant  I  saw  him  trailing  after  the  lawyer, 
I  divined  that  it  was  this  half-baked  "reformer" 
who,  as  agent,  meant  to  seize  upon  the  Springs 
lands  for  some  corporation  in  St.  Louis,  Kansas 
City,  or  St.  Joe. 

I  went  home  brooding  over  what  I  had  seen, 
and  sank  down  by  the  open  kitchen  window  where 
I  go  to  sit  when  feeling  low,  not  to  be  mocked  by 
the  smiling  politeness  of  a  front  room.  And 
there's  where  I  reasoned  out  that  Lane  Laclede 
had  grown  to  hate  Taggart  Gleason  with  a  dan- 
gerous hatred  because  he  had  grown  to  like  Glea- 
son's  wife  with  a  dangerous  liking.  And  it  oc- 
curred to  me  that  there's  a  creaking  rustiness  in 
the  world's  turning  unmentioned  in  my  geography. 

Out  of  a  maze  of  forebodings  I  was  suddenly 
snatched  by  Bill.  "Father,  it's  time  to  go  to  the 
party!" 

I  looked  up  and  gasped.  Yes,  it  really  was  Bill 
Attum,  and  I  cast  aside  the  first  wild  idea  that  a 
Committee  had  come  to  plague  me  about  one  of 
Brother  Wane's  new  plans  for  increasing  his  Sun- 
day school's  attendance.  He  was  so  dressed-up 
that  I  saw  at  once  the  kitchen  was  no  place  for 
him,  so  I  said,  brief,  "Let  us  go." 

I  had  forgotten  the   party — I  had  forgotten 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          73 

everything  but  the  blow  threatening  the  calm  con- 
tent of  my  town.  But  I  had  agreed  to  sidetrack 
from  the  main  course  of  life  for  a  brief  excur- 
sion into  dreamland  with  Bill,  so  I  coupled  on; 
but  I  coupled  on  with  a  considerable  jerk. 

There  were  neither  clouds  nor  a  moon.  We 
headed  for  the  College,  several  blocks  away,  and 
as  we  cut  across  the  weedy  vacant  lot  by  the  old 
brick  church,  I  fancied  I  could  make  out  a  black 
blur  in  the  darkness  that  brooded  over  the  campus. 

Bill  noticed  it,  too.  "She's  waiting  for  us  at 
the  stiles,"  he  said,  happy,  and  started  ahead  at 
a  smart  pace ;  but  I  kept  at  his  side  though  swift 
his  feet.  At  first  I  felt  evasive  and  too  large  for 
such  sport;  but  after  a  time  my  speed  got  up  my 
spirit-kite  and  kept  it  well  in  air,  until  I  found 
my  tail  flying  too  high  to  get  trammeled  in  the 
branches  of  any  worldly  consideration. 


VIII 

When  Your  Hour  Comes,  Though  Life's  Game 
Has  But  Fairly  Begun,  Fate  Must  Sound  Her 
Bell 

ABOUT  six  feet  higher  than  the  level  of  the 
bluegrass  lawn,  the  railroad  curves  around 
the  old  stone  wall  that  encloses  the  College  cam- 
pus; and  at  the  foot  of  the  walk  that  runs  straight 
down  from  the  front  porch  the  hedge  parts  on 
either  hand,  and  the  wall  is  broken  by  a  set  of 
age-eaten  stone  steps  set  in  the  earth  and  called 
"the  stiles."  That's  where  we  found  her  wait- 
ing. The  stars  were  bright,  but  in  those  days 
there  was  a  thickset  row  of  maples  on  either  side 
of  the  campus  walk,  with  branches  interlocked 
overhead,  so  all  we  could  make  of  her  face  was  a 
sweet  blur  of  possibility. 

"Is  that  Stick?"  she  asked,  low  and  cautious. 

"And  Bill,"  put  in  my  son,  cordial. 
74 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          75 

Without  another  word,  she  led  us  between  the 
maple  rows.  The  path  was  just  earth,  packed 
hard  by  the  army  of  school-children  who  had 
marched  gaily  forth  to  conquer  life,  and  I  knew 
by  my  stumbling  over  knotted  tree-roots  that 
stretched  from  side  to  side,  and  by  her  easy  es- 
capes, that  the  place  was  as  familiar  to  the  girl- 
out-of-the-common  as  it  had  once  been  to  me. 

Years  ago  the  College  had  been  compelled  to 
close  its  doors,  for  such  of  our  people  as  were  col- 
lege-bent began  sending  their  young  away  from 
Missouri,  with  the  idea  that  the  farther  you  went 
after  a  thing  the  more  it  was  worth.  So  up 
through  the  deserted  yard  we  stole,  sinister  and 
heavy  of  breath,  while  she  in  whispers  began  tell- 
ing how  she  had  always  imagined  flashing  car- 
riages and  lively  music  at  parties.  "I  was  never 
at  one  in  all  my  life,  until  to-night,"  she  said,  so 
helpless  and  wistful  it  made  my  heart  ache. 
"Have  you  been,  Stick?" 

"Many  a  time.  And  I  always  took  Gussie 
Meade."  We  were  going  upstairs — there's  a 
porch-staircase  on  either  hand,  boxed  in,  leading 
to  the  chapel  above,  it  having  been  the  idea  of  the 
builders  that  though  the  sexes  might  mingle  on 
the  heights  of  learning,  each  had  best  go  up  and 


76          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

down  to  itself.  "Yes,  many  a  time!"  My  ac- 
cent was  mellow,  as  my  memory  climbed  down 
those  same  weatherbeaten  steps,  down,  down  till 
I  reached  young  schooldays.  But  I  was  so  dizzy 
from  the  trip,  and  so  uneasy  in  the  far-off  life  of 
fresh  paint  and  unfinished  lines,  that  I  was  glad 
enough  to  snatch  myself  out  of  the  past  and  put 
forty  years  at  my  back. 

She  reached  the  head  of  the  steps,  saying  soft- 
ly, "So  she  became  your  wife?" 

"Who— Gussie  Meade?  Lord,  no!"  Then  I 
remembered  Bill  and  held  my  tongue.  For  it 
was  after  Gussie  Meade  had  been  persuaded  to 
break  our  engagement  and  marry  one  who  was 
not  a  blacksmith  that  I — more  to  show  myself  a 
man  than  from  any  other  reason — married  out  of 
hand,  and  built  Horseshoe  House  as  an  emblem 
of  my  trade  and  an  object-lesson  proof  that  I 
was  not  ashamed  of  it.  Now  Gussie  was  as  soft 
and  yielding  as  her  name;  but  as  to  Bill's  mother, 
I  no  more  thought  of  disputing  her  word  than  did 
the  dust  under  her  broom,  for  as  sure  as  I 
dropped  a  word,  no  matter  how  casual,  she  nur- 
tured it  to  a  full  crop;  and  no  matter  how  peace- 
ful my  intent,  as  thinking  I  was  to  bring  forth  a 
figtree,  she  always  found  it  bearing  nettles. 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          77 

But  after  her  death  I  realized  how  good  a  wife 
she  was,  and  her  monument  is  as  noteworthy  as 
any  in  the  cemetery,  though  others  with  more 
angels.  To  her  I  owed  the  sweet  savor  of  my 
later  years — I  speak  of  Bill;  and  there  is  a 
thought  in  the  foliage  of  my  thought-tree,  never 
quite  ripe  but  growing  in  flavor  year  by  year, 
that  the  monument  to  her  was  at  the  same  time  a 
stone  to  our  boy.  It's  a  thought  hard  to  handle, 
and  there  I  leave  it,  to  get  back  to  my  party. 

"Be  careful,"  our  gallant  hostess  whispered, 
gliding  to  the  eastern  edge  of  the  upstairs-porch. 
The  big  chapel  door  was  of  course  locked,  and 
I  wondered  if  we  were  to  play  Arabs  on  the  floor, 
with  our  heels  for  stools.  Around  this  upper 
deck,  mortised  at  either  end  into  the  brick  wall, 
was  a  balustrade,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew  she 
stood  on  the  outside  of  it,  such  being  her  dexterity 
and  the  darkness,  that  the  poetry  of  her  swal- 
low-flight must  needs  be  left  to  our  fancy. 

The  floor  projected  but  a  few  inches  beyond 
the  balustrade,  and  on  this  ledge  she  hovered  like 
a  bird  trying  its  wings.  "Follow  me,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

Bill  was  over  in  a  trice  and  I  soon  enough, 
though  unwilling — for  as  a  boy  I  had  once,  in  an- 


78          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

swer  to  a  dare,  climbed  this  same  railing,  sidled 
along  the  ledge  to  the  brick  wall,  reached  cautious- 
ly outward  to  grasp  the  nearest  window-sill  (hold- 
ing the  while  to  the  porch-lattice),  set  one  foot  in 
a  hole  where  a  brick  had  been,  cast  a  leg  aloft,  and 
thus  gained  the  hall  adjoining  the  chapel.  So 
different  life  looks  to  man  as  his  age  varies  that 
had  every  one  in  Mizzouryville  now  dared  me  es- 
say this  hazardous  feat,  I  should  have  heeded 
them  not  so  much  as  by  the  snapping  of  my  fin- 
gers. But  here  was  a  matter  of  keeping  up  with 
Bill ;  and  I  kept  up,  silent  and  grim. 

"It'll  be  more  like  a  real  party  after  we  get  in," 
she  whispered,  "but  even  then  we  mustn't  make 
any  noise  or  the  neighbors  might  hear." 

I  said,  dry,  "Yes,  this  is  a  sort  of  burglars' 
festival." 

That  set  her  to  laughing  so  hard  that  she  had 
to  grasp  the  lattice  with  both  hands.  "I  don't 
care,"  she  gurgled,  "the  darkness,  and  the  danger 
of  getting  in,  and  the  risk  of  somebody's  catching 
us — I  just  love  it." 

"I  love  it,  too,"  Bill  muttered,  vague  but  posi- 
tive. 

Gripping  the  balustrade  with  her  left  hand,  she 
stretched  her  body  far  out  against  the  wall  and 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          79 

groped  for  the  window-sash.  It  was  already  up 
an  inch  or  so,  and  she  pushed  it  high,  showing 
her  strength,  for  all  those  windows  were  large, 
twelve  panes  to  each  sash. 

She  panted:  "You  must  put  your  foot  in  a 
hole  under  the  window " 

"Don't  you  fall!"  Bill  warned  her,  breathless. 

" And  throw  your  weight  over  on  that  foot ; 

and  then — and  then  you  get  in — you'll  know  how, 
so  you  needn't  watch  me  any  longer." 

"We  couldn't  help  watching,"  I  said.  "I  cal- 
culate there'll  be  nothing  at  the  party  equal  to 
this." 

She  laughed,  nervous,  and  withdrew  her  foot 
from  its  exploring  after  the  hole.  "Stick — and 
Bill — promise  me  you'll  not  look.  Under  this 
long  black  waterproof  that  hides  me  I  have  on  a 
white  dress  and — and  white  slippers — and  all." 

"We  can't  help  looking,"  I  told  her.  "You  ask 
what's  beyond  mortal  strength." 

"Then  I  go  through  the  window  last,"  she  de- 
clared, and  last  she  was;  but  unless  I  miss  my 
guess,  Bill  was  more  than  pleased.  For  to  reach 
the  window  he  must  needs  pass  her  on  that  scrap 
of  projecting  floor  twenty  feet  from  the  ground, 
insomuch  that  the  closeness  of  them  was  as  warm 


8o          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

as  that  of  partners  waltzing  in  high  life,  and  sim- 
ilar, and  more  necessary. 

Y/hen  we  were  in  the  hall  she  closed  the  win- 
dow and  lit  a  Chinese  lantern,  making  as  little 
light  as  might  be,  unless  she  had  held  aloft  a 
glowworm.  That  mellow  ball  of  red-and-yellow 
was  like  a  decoration  swung  on  the  cloak  of  dark- 
ness, and  I'd  not  have  been  greatly  surprised  had 
it  melted  right  out  of  her  little  white  hand.  At 
the  first  splutter  of  the  match,  her  face  had 
leaped  to  the  eye  out  of  the  night  like  a  picture 
cut  from  a  magazine;  and  the  lantern  kept  it  in 
a  dim  light-cloud  just  like  the  atmosphere  of  a 
dream  in  which  you  see  wonderful  things  but  not 
clear  enough  to  soothe  the  ache  in  the  heart. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  long  hall,  she  turned  to 
the  door  on  the  left  and  we  were  soon  in  the 
chapel  where  I  had  not  stood  for  many  years;  a 
large  room,  but  not  nearly  so  large  as  I  had  once 
found  it.  I  thought  it  strange  that  the  years  could 
pass  away  yet  leave  their  smell  of  blackboard, 
dusty  desks  and  benches,  and  empty  stove  as  if 
it  were  but  yesterday  since  Gussie  Meade  and  I 
had  cast  notes  to  each  other  across  the  aisle. 

Our  hostess  lighted  other  lanterns  and  sus- 
pended them  from  a  bench  just  high  enough  to  be 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          81 

clear  of  the  floor.  "We  can  see  the  light,"  she 
explained,  "but  it  won't  show  through  the  win- 
dows, and  if  anybody  gets  lonesome  in  the  dark 
he  can  go  and  stand  among  the  lanterns." 

"Where  will  you  stay?"  Bill  asked;  I  think  he 
had  it  in  his  heated  mind  that  wherever  she  was 
there'd  be  light  enough  for  him ;  if  so,  he  couldn't 
give  it  tongue. 

She  threw  up  a  south  window.  "Let's  sit  here 
— and  begin  the  party."  And  on  a  recitation 
bench  that  faced  the  window  we  sat  in  the  follow- 
ing order:  Herself,  myself,  Bill.  And  at  once 
she  began  saying  how  thoroughly  she  trusted 
"Stick"  because  of  the  admiration  always  felt  for 
me  by  her  poor  mother  and  by  her  uncle ;  and  she 
dwelt  on  the  exploits  of  the  night  of  the  big  fire. 
I  could  not  imagine  who  her  mother  had  been,  for 
in  the  boarding-house  had  raged  a  great  con- 
fusion amongst  towngirls  as  well  as  those  from  a 
distance.  Of  course  I  knew  our  hostess's  mother 
had  come  from  afar,  for  the  people  in  Mizzoury- 
ville  made  little  of  what  I  did,  never  mentioning 
it  if  they  could  help  it,  fearing  I  might  in  some 
way  set  myself  above  my  fellows. 

"Don't  talk  about  that  affair,"  I  told  her,  hop: 
ing  she  would;  and  talk  she  did  for  a  time  thril- 


S2          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

lingly,  and  from  Bill's  restlessness  I  knew  he  was 
longing  for  desperate  deeds  into  which  he  might 
plunge  waist-high. 

"And  now,"  she  said  finally,  "the  program  of 
my  party  is  this:  first,  we'll  enjoy  the  delicious- 
ness  of  May" — and  she  breathed  deep  of  the  lo- 
cust-fragrance wafted  through  the  window  on  rip- 
pling wings, — "while  each  tells  something  close 
to  his  heart,  such  as  he  wouldn't  tell  to  a  stran- 
ger; then,  refreshments.  Then  we'll  act  a  little 
play  I've  made  up,  reading  our  parts  because 
there's  no  time  to  memorize  them.  And  then 
we'll  say  good-by.  For  I've  decided  to  go  back, 
after  this  party,  to  the  dead  house  in  the  city 
of  strangers  where  I  left  my  name  at  home." 
There  was  nothing  in  what  she  said  to  bring  a 
tear  to  my  eye,  it  just  came  there  uninvited  as 
happens  at  times  in  the  opera  house  at  a  tone  of 
voice  or  a  look  on  a  woman's  face. 

"I'll  tell  my  heart-secret  first,"  Bill  said.  "It's 
this — that  I  don't  want  you  to  go  away.  If  you 
have  to  go,  you  must  come  again.  Because  I 
want  you  to  know  what  your  coming  here  has 
meant  to  me.  You  won't  tell  me  the  way  to 
where  you  live,  but  you  know  the  way  to  me. 
Talk  about  what  is  close  to  the  heart — well,  that's 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          83 

the  closest  to  mine !  I  wish  I  could  explain  better, 
but  everything  seems  so  dark,  somehow,  so  dark 
— and  lonesome  .  .  ." 

"Then,  Bill,"  I  spoke  up,  warningly,  "you'd 
best  go  stand  amongst  the  lanterns." 

"You  stay  right  where  you  are,  Bill,"  and  she 
reached  behind  me  to  pat  his  shoulder.  "Yes, 
I  promise  to  come  back  some  day,  to  find  what 
my  coming  has  meant  to  you.  But,  oh,  dear! 
the  adventure  will  all  be  gone,  then — no  hiding 
in  this  old  building,  living  off  grocers'  tins,  sleep- 
ing on  my  cloak,  listening  for  footsteps  .  .  . 
Stick,  when  I  came  here  to  take  the  examinations, 
I'd  no  intention  of  ever  becoming  a  teacher — it 
was  to  get  away  from  home  for  a  little  freedom. 
During  the  week  I  boarded  at  the  Gleasons'  I 
learned  what  a  dear,  sweet  woman  she  is,  while 
he's  the  coldest-blooded  man!  He  couldn't  ap- 
preciate his  wife,  he  lacks  the  nature  to  feel  her 
fineness — but  her  boarder  knows  her  worth,  and 
that's  the  thing  nearest  my  heart.  Stick,  you're 
so  brave  and  ready  to  sacrifice  yourself,  couldn't 
you  do  something  to  prevent  a  tragedy  in  that 
house?  Every  day  Lane  Laclede  passed  under 
the  roof  he  saw  how  Taggart  Gleason  was  squeez- 
ing out  his  wife's  heart's  blood,  drop  by  drop, 


84          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

while  Mrs.  Gleason's  step-daughter  treated  her 
with  open  contempt.  Now  that  Lane  is  boarding 
at  another  place,  he'll  brood  over  what  he  knows 
until  one  day  he'll  forget  himself,  and  then  .  .  ." 
After  I'd  done  my  best  to  reassure  her  (though 
my  own  heart  was  none  too  light),  she  went  back 
to  the  prospect  of  having  to  go  home.  "Oh, 
Stick,  this  breath  of  freedom  has  not  been  very 
good  for  me,  after  all !  Isn't  there  any  way  for 
me  to  stay  alive?  You  are  so  big  and  strong — 
won't  you  stop  Cinderella's  clock?" 

"My  dear  child,  when  the  hour  comes,  fate 
must  strike  the  bell."  Although  I  deemed  her 
enterprise  unbecoming  a  true  woman — whose 
place  is  beside  her  own  hearthstone — her  sadness 
overflowed  her  bosom  and  filled  mine.  Such  is 
the  witchery  of  southern  breezes  and  a  maid's 
face  softened  in  summer  gloom,  that  it  came  to 
me  with  a  bitter  pang  that  it's  cruelly  unkind  of 
fate  to  sound  her  bell  when  hearts  are  young. 


Often  We  Shrink  Not  So  Much  from  tkt  Thing  as 
from  the  Name  the  World  Gi^et  It 

I  KNEW  that  what  lay  nearest  my  heart 
couldn't  interest  a  young  girl  fond  of  ad- 
ventures, so  in  as  few  words  as  possible  I  recited 
my  foreboding  of  a  tourists'  hotel  to  be  built  on 
the  Gleason  Rockpile  overlooking  the  Mineral 
Springs,  thus  raising  from  its  grave  that  old  spec- 
ter of  a  new  railroad.  I  painted  the  unrest  that 
comes  to  a  village  when,  ashamed  of  its  size,  it 
longs  to  set  up  factories  to  vomit  smoke  in  the 
pure  air. 

My  point  of  view  was  too  high,  for  she  had 
always  supposed  that  a  small  town,  like  a  small 
boy,  lusts  for  growth. 

"This  is  nearest  my  heart,"  said  I,  "that  the 
peace  of  Mizzouryville  is  threatened.  But  I'll 
speak  of  it  no  more,  for  a  speaker  is  tuccessful 

85 


86          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

only  when  he  gives  out  what  folks  want  to  hear — 
so  change  your  program." 

She  rose. 

"Wait,"  said  Bill. 

She  sat  down  again. 

"Something  has  been  on  my  mind  a  long  time," 
he  said.  "It  is  this:  How  can  a  person  tell 
when  he  is  in  love?  And  when  I  say  'love,'  I 
mean  such  as  a  man  ought  to  feel  for — for 

I  thought  when  he  commenced  that  he  would 
run  aground,  and  I  thought  true;  but  I  must 
admit  I'd  been  struck  too  hard  to  steam  to  his 
rescue. 

But  she  helped  him  off  the  sandbar.  "Do  you 
mean  the  Intended?" 

"Yes.  And  this  is  a  serious  thing.  I  ought 
to  know." 

She  said,  constrained,  "Can't  you  tell  by  the 
way  you  feel  when  you're  with  her?" 

"I  don't  feel  nothing,"  says  Bill,  letting  go  his 
moorings,  and  driving  so  hard  that  his  grammar 
was  a  total  wreck.  "I  don't  feel  nothing." 

"Bill,"  I  reproved  him,  "this  talk  ought  not 
to  be." 

"I  don't  feel  nothing,"  he  maintained,  dogged; 
•"with  her,  or  without  her." 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          87 

"Yes,  you  do,"  she  got  up  quick  and  impatient. 
"When  you  kiss  her " 

"I  never  did!"  And  though  in  the  dark,  I 
knew  he  was  as  red  as  a  morning  sky. 

"That's  the  way  to  find  out — and  I'm  going 
after  refreshments;  and  when  I  come  back,"  she 
said,  conclusive,  "there  mustn't  be  any  more  of 
that."  And  when  she  was  gone,  I  gave  Bill  a 
piece  of  my  mind,  seeing  he  hadn't  sufficient  of 
his  own. 

Neither  he  nor  Laidie  had  ever  hinted  that 
their  marriage  might  not  take  place,  and  I  was  a 
living  illustration  of  the  truth  that  mutual  love 
has  less  to  do  with  conjugal  happiness  than  a 
similar  taste  in  meats  and  vegetables.  "Nor 
would  I  have  consented  to  this  night's  doings,"  I 
told  him,  low  and  gruff — for  when  my  voice  is 
lowered,  it  rasps  at  its  bonds — "had  I  imagined 
you'd  show  any  wavering." 

"I'm  not  a-wavering,"  he  said,  hasty,  "I'm  just 
wondering  over  the  mystery  of  my  feelings." 

"All  the  people  I've  ever  known,"  said  I,  "who 
married  without  considering  property  advantage 
or  family  station,  soon  wore  holes  in  the  back  of 
their  romance;  and  the  characters  who  marry  for 
love  only,  and  have  only  love  to  go  on  yet  stay 


88  HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

happy  to  the  last  line,  are  in  the  books  in  the 
smokehouse." 

"I'm  not  a-wavering,"  he  pleaded,  fearing  she 
might  return  and  hear  us. 

Presently  the  refreshments  were  spread  where 
the  lanterns  hung  low,  and  we  crouched  there,  our 
backs  to  the  windows,  strange  shadows  flickering 
over  the  calcimined  ceiling,  and  the  candles  threat- 
ening to  catch  their  flimsy  paper  envelopes  afire. 

I  do  not  remember  what  we  ate,  by  which  I 
know  there  were  no  solid  victuals;  but  everything 
was  pretty  and  small,  each  sandwich  offering 
divers  conflicting  tastes,  no  particular  flavor  riding 
above  the  others  to  give  it  a  familiar  name. 
While  eating,  our  talk  flowed  low  and  mellow, 
and  little  memories  I  had  thought  dead  came 
creeping  out  into  the  sunshine  of  the  girl's  hearty 
good-fellowship — one  never  knows  whether  cer- 
tain memories  are  dead  or  torpid,  till  spring 
comes  again.  Also,  Bill  seemed  to  germinate. 
But  I  could  no  more  repeat  our  talk  in  that  clan- 
destine dining-boudoir  than  name  the  sights  and 
odors  of  an  April  day  when  the  plow  turns  up 
the  garden  soil  and  the  children  come  whooping 
home  from  school,  and  the  doves  catch  their  long 
note  for  soothing  summer  harmonies. 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          89 

She  was  the  spring — the  lantern-glow  on  her 
face,  and  on  her  bosom  some  yellow  roses  from 
the  scraggy  old  rosebush  by  the  college  well,  its 
roots  bedded  under  rocks  that  had  protected  them 
half  a  century.  Because  of  the  delicate  fragrance 
I  felt  steeped  in  the  days  when  that  same  rose- 
bush had  grown  sister-roses  to  those  now  bloom- 
ing— roses  for  me  from  Gussie's  hand.  And  right 
then  a  thought  began  to  bud  its  leaves  in  my 
thought-tree  of  which  more  must  be  said  anon, 
and  under  its  influence  I  grew  young  as  Bill  grew 
old. 

When  the  feast  was  ended — "Now  for  the 
play!"  And  she  drew  forth  three  manuscripts, 
one  for  each.  "It's  an  allegory,"  she  went  on, 
producing  candles  set  in  square  boxes  with  a  side 
of  each  removed,  that  the  light  might  shine  out 
upon  the  paper  in  the  manner  of  dark-lanterns. 
"I  am  Wisdom,  and  Bill  is  Youth.  I  stand  on  the 
platform,  and  Bill  at  the  farthest  corner  of  the 
room,  because  Youth  is  very  far  from  Wisdom. 
But  gradually  he  comes  closer " 

"That's  great,"  says  Bill,  gratified.  "Do  I  get 
you  at  last?"  And  he  marched  away  with  his 
candle-box,  examining  the  end  of  his  manuscript, 
eager. 


90          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

"And  Stick  is  Prejudice,"  she  explained,  "which 
is  found  everywhere,  so  he  can  move  all  around 
as  he  pleases.  But  he  must  take  pains  to  keep 
getting  between  Youth  and  Wisdom." 

"I'll  surely  keep  you  two  apart,"  said  I,  de- 
termined. 

The  play  began  with  Bill's  reading  off  in  a 
round  voice  that  his  father's  ways  were  good 
enough  for  him,  and  of  course  I,  as  Prejudice, 
cheered  him  on ;  but  Wisdom  always  had  the  last 
word  and  the  best  and  soon  Bill  began  to  doubt 
the  advantages  of  plowing  with  a  stick,  and  the 
like,  and  every  time  he  conceded  a  point  he  took 
a  stride  toward  the  platform.  I  was  given  argu- 
ments against  progress  so  flimsy  and  foolish  that 
I  grew  ashamed  to  read  them,  and  every  time 
Wisdom  checked  them  off,  Bill's  voice  would  ring 
out  hearty  praise,  till  presently  he  was  very  close 
to  the  wise  goddess.  Unluckily  my  directions 
read  that  I  must  "stand  to  one  side,  looking  dark 
and  forbidding."  When  I  thought  of  Laidie,  it 
was  not  difficult  for  me  to  look  dark,  but  I  was 
where  no  light  could  reveal  my  darkness. 

Bill,  at  the  foot  of  the  platform,  read  out  in 
triumphant  tones,  "Thou  art  right,  fair  goddess 
of  Wisdom,  and  I  grasp  thee  by  the  hand!" 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          91 

And  with  that  he  reached  up  and  caught  her 
hand,  though  she  had  meant  no  such  thing,  but 
had  written  in  a  figure,  for  goddesses  may  not  be 
touched  by  mortal  fingers. 

"Hold  on  there,  Bill,"  I  warned  him,  starting 
forward,  very  uneasy,  "that  is  not  down  in  the 
play." 

She  caught  sight  of  my  face  then,  and  seeing 
that  it  was  truly  "dark  and  forbidding,"  was  set 
off  in  merry  peals  of  laughter,  delicious  though 
aggravating. 

Bill  turned  to  me  with  "All  right,  father,  I'm 
a-holding  on  I" 

I  knew  the  longer  she  kept  laughing  the  longer 
he  would  keep  holding,  but  the  more  I  scowled 
the  harder  she  laughed,  till  at  last  the  sparks  from 
her  merriment  kindled  a  blaze  in  my  own  breast 
and  I  laughed  in  the  general  illumination.  And 
nobody  enjoyed  it  more  than  Bill. 

"Help  me  down,"  she  gasped,  from  the  height 
of  the  platform,  shaking  unsteadily  from  her  hys- 
terical mirth.  He  reached  up  his  arms  and  he 
did  help  her  down,  tender  and  slow. 

But  hardly  had  her  white  slippers  touched  the 
floor  when  a  crash  came  directly  under  the  spot 
where  we  were  standing,  sending  strange  clap- 


92          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

ping  echoes  from  remote  walls  of  the  lower  story. 

No  laughter  now !  she  snatched  away  her  hand 
and  ran  to  blow  out  the  lantern. 

"Whoever  it  is,  let  'em  come!"  cried  Bill, 
cocked  and  primed  to  prove  himself  a  hero. 

"I  mustn't  be  found  here,"  she  gasped.  "Don't 
you  understand?"  And  out  went  all  the  lights. 

I  understood,  for  all  of  a  sudden  it  came  to 
me  how  very  odd  was  our  situation  up  there,  and 
how  much  odder  the  community  would  hold  the 
affair.  Now,  there  are  a  thousand  things  of  a 
wondrous  sweetness  which,  if  spread  to  the  public 
taste,  must  needs  leave  bitterness  in  the  mouth — 
and  here  was  a  thing  that  simply  must  not  be  un- 
covered. To  my  dying  days  I  would  be  regarded 
in  a  shifted  light,  but  what  was  far  more  to  me — 
Laidie's  opinion  of  Bill  would  become  discolored, 
and  Bill  was  always  the  butter  on  the  bread  of 
my  content. 

"Listen  1"  Bill  ordered,  hoarsely — for  like 
myself,  he  couldn't  whisper. 

There  was  a  stumbling  footstep  on  the  hall- 
stair. 

"He's  coming  up,"  said  the  girl-out-of-the- 
common.  "Must  have  broken  in  a  window,  down- 
stairs— guard  the  doors;  keep  him  out  of  the 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          93 

chapel  till  I've  locked  myself  up  in  the  little  place 
I've  been  using  as  my  bedroom."  And  she  began 
to  feel  her  way  toward  the  northwest  chamber, 
which  in  old  days  had  been  the  music-room. 

The  chapel  had  two  doors  on  the  east,  both 
opening  into  the  hall,  one  at  each  end  of  the 
long  blackboard.  Bill  and  I  braced  ourselves 
against  them  as  up  the  stair  at  a  great  speed,  and 
with  much  noise  of  boots,  came  that  intruder, 
equally  unwelcome  to  Wisdom,  Youth  and  Preju- 
dice. If  he  found  entrance,  the  girl  would  be 
gone;  but  how  were  we  to  explain  the  fragments 
of  our  sandwich-barbecue  and  those  romantic  lan- 
terns? At  the  very  best  we  would  be  set  down 
as  fools.  And  if  the  girl  were  found  .  .  .  What 
I  dreaded  was  the  name  of  the  thing. 

My  suspense  was  fraught  with  such  nerve- 
racking  dangers,  and  found  itself  so  helpless  to 
invent  plans  while  those  footsteps  were  pounding 
up  the  stairs,  that  the  last  line  on  one  of  life's 
closely  crowded  pages  seemed  to  hare  been 
written. 


You  Can't  Find  Out  if  You're  in  Love  by  Kissing 
the  Wrong  Girl 

THE  next  half-hour  was  the  quickest-actioned 
— barring  the  time  of  the  big  fire — I  have 
ever  known.  Bill  and  I  held  each  a  door  against 
the  coming  of  the  unknown  man,  with  our  hostess 
hovering  on  our  flank;  and  when  he  reached  the 
head  of  the  hall-steps  I  braced  myself  with  all  my 
strength  and  thanked  God  I  was  a  blacksmith. 

But  the  man  hurried  down  the  hall  with  no 
intention  of  exploring  the  chapel — and  up  the 
attic  staircase  sped  his  eager  feet  till  suddenly 
silence  fell,  and  we  knew  that  in  the  wide,  un- 
plastered  space  above,  his  form  was  crouching. 
I  heard  our  hostess  whisper,  "Stick — where  are 
you?"  For  without  the  candles,  nothing  was  to 
be  seen  but  ghost-lights  swimming  before  the 
windows. 

94 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          9$ 

"Here  /  am,"  Bill  called,  low  but  penetrating. 

Softly  as  a  leaf  blown  down  the  street,  she  went 
to  him  and  I  hastened  to  join  them,  very  uneasy. 

"I  must  say  good-by!"  She  caught  my  arm, 
nervous  and  hasty.  "I  can  never  stay  here  after 
a  spy  has  come  to  watch.  I  must  go  this  very 
hour — and  go  all  alone.  Good-by — good-by  .  .  . 
Oh,  Stick,  you've  given  me  something  to  think 
about  as  long  as  I  livel"  And  I  think  she  took 
Bill's  hand. 

"Yes — better  go  quick,"  I  said,  "for  I  hear 
men's  voices  in  the  yard — and  don't  forget  that  a 
true  woman  stays  at  home  with  a  good  lock  on 
her  door." 

"Dear  old  Prejudice  1"  She  drew  me  down 
and  kissed  me  heartily. 

Bill  asked,  wistful,  "When  are  you  coming 
back  to  see  what  I've  made  of  myself?"  There 
was  silence,  and  a  pause;  then,  like  a  bird,  she 
skimmed  along  the  wall  where  the  blackboard 
was  painted  on  the  plastering,  and  out  into  the 
hall  through  the  door  I  had  deserted. 

"Father,"  Bill  said  in  a  muffled  voice,  "I'm 
afraid  that  plan  to  find  out  my  feelings  for  Laidie 
isn't  going  to  work." 

"What  do  you  mean?" — I  was  uneasy. 


96          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

"Why,  well,  you  see,  father — I've  gone  and 
kissed  the  wrong  girl!" 

"Bang!"  came  a  noise  from  overhead,  and  the 
plastering  rained  down  upon  the  floor;  evidently 
the  fugitive  in  the  attic  had  stepped  off  a  beam 
upon  mere  lath-and-mortar.  This  lime-shower 
came  as  a  counter  shock  to  Bill's  words,  and  as 
one  violent  motion  destroys  another — like  the 
waves  in  my  book  on  physics — my  mind  went  per- 
fectly blank. 

Into  my  blankness  then  burst  the  uproar  of 
swift  feet  and  angry  voices  from  below,  proving 
that  the  creature  in  the  attic  was  hiding  from 
men  in  full  cry. 

I  recognized  the  harsh,  vindictive  tones  of  Tag- 
gart  Gleason  so  different  from  his  ordinary  oily 
smoothness:  "Look  in  the  dining-room!"  He 
meant  a  long  inner  chamber  where  once  school- 
boarders  had  been  served. 

"Or  in  the  little  closet  under  the  hall-stairs," 
came  the  lazy,  unruffled  voice  of  Lane  Laclede,  as 
if  he  found  it  good  sport. 

"No,  no,"  shouted  a  third,  "he  wouldn't  stop 
down  here — upstairs,  boys!"  This  was  an 
offshoot  of  our  highest  family.  Educated  at 
Missouri  University,  Lancaster  Overstreet  had 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          97 

brought  back  the  mental  stores  of  a  fairly  good 
lawyer,  and  the  natural  greenness  that  he  had 
carried  there.  It  was  he  and  that  assistant 
cashier  (Richard  Purly)  who  had  gone  to  Tag- 
gart  Gleason's,  a  few  hours  earlier,  after  the  title 
deed  to  the  Rockpile,  and  I  wondered  if  the  pres- 
ent chase  had  ought  to  do  with  that  matter. 

While  they  were  on  their  way  upstairs,  the 
fugitive,  panic-stricken,  decided  to  come  down — 
and  down  he  came  in  a  great  hurry,  sending  up 
dust  and  plastering  in  choking  clouds.  It  hap- 
pened all  so  quick  that  the  girl  had  not  been  given 
time  to  reach  the  hall-window;  and  she  stopped 
helpless  as  the  pursued  man  leaped  in  front  of 
her  and  grabbed  at  the  closed  sash  to  push  it  up. 

"There  he  is!"  came  a  shrill  voice  from  the 
yard,  causing  the  man  to  pause,  rigid.  His  dis- 
coverer was  Cadwitch  Beam,  a  man  who  never 
could  have  been  elected  sheriff  had  he  not  always 
voted  the  straight  ticket,  therefore  must  needs  be 
voted  for.  "There  he  is  at  the  south  hall  window 
upstairs!" 

At  the  keen-edged  cry,  some  nine  men  came 
swarming  up  the  stairs  with  lanterns  of  good 
clear  glass  and  sturdy  wicks  showing  the  startled 
girl  midway  of  the  hall,  with  the  man  at  the  win- 


98          HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

dow  blocking  off  her  escape,  yet  himself  too  timid 
to  essay  it. 

All  this  I  saw  through  a  cautious  crack  of  the 
door;  and  having  waited  for  the  pursuers  to  get 
well  forward,  Bill  and  I  slipped  out  in  their  wake 
as  if  we  had  been  with  them  from  the  beginning. 
So  triumphant  were  they  at  cornering  their  man, 
yet  so  dumbfounded  at  sight  of  the  girl,  that  they 
gave  us  no  heed,  but  stood  stock  still  in  a  daze. 
And  the  man  at  bay,  with  his  back  to  the  open 
window — he,  too,  stared  at  the  girl,  and  at  the 
group  of  us  men  huddled  behind  h'er,  as  if 
petrified. 

Richard  Purly  was  the  first  to  come  to  life. 
Dashing  past  the  girl,  he  grabbed  the  fellow  by 
his  sleazy  old  coat.  "You  fool" — and  he  tore 
away  what  he  was  holding  to — "give  up  that  title- 
deed!"  Then  I  saw  that  the  fugitive  was  Jim 
Bob  Peterson.  Well,  yes,'  he  was  a  fool — not 
only  that  night,  but  every  day  in  the  year;  but  to 
hear  him  so  called  by  a  newcomer  was  too  much 
for  me,  and  I  strode  between  them  with  a  light  in 
my  eye.  It  was  plain  that  Jim  Bob  had  shoul- 
dered a  load  too  heavy  for  him  to  carry,  but  I 
let  Purly  know  plain  and  simple  that  if  an  old 
settler  was  to  be  termed  Fool,  the  task  did  not 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED          99 

fall  te  a  raw  assistant  cashier,  but  seven  years  in 
our  midst. 

"Jim  Bob,"  Gleason  roared,  but  not  daring  to 
cross  my  path,  "give  back  my  title-deed  or  Dick 
Purly'll  have  the  law  on  you." 

And  Lancaster  Overstreet  coaxed,  "I'm  bound 
to  tell  you,  Jim  Bob,  as  your  friend,  and  as  Purly's 
lawyer,  that  you've  committed  an  actionable  of- 
fense." 

"In  plain  words,"  Gleason  snapped,  "you're  a 
scheming  old  thief!" 

"I  haven't  got  that  deed,"  Jim  Bob  mumbled; 
*'search  me  and  see." 

In  the  meantime,  the  girl  finding  herself  caught 
in  a  trap,  thrust  her  hand  into  her  bosom  in  a 
nervous  way  that  brought  to  light  a  slip  of 
paper. 

"She's  got  it!"  shouted  Lancaster  Overstreet 
who,  less  lawyer  than  youth,  had  watched  her 
more  closely  than  he  had  Jim  Bob.  "That  lady 
has  the  deed!" 

"If  you  dare  touch  me "  she  said,  low  and 

fierce,  standing  with  back  to  wall. 

Bill  would  have  interfered  right  then,  but  I 
gave  him  a  warning  shove.  If  we  showed  ac- 
quaintance with  the  girl-out-of-the-common,  it 


ioo        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

would  have  been  none  the  better  for  her  and  I'm 
not  saying,  now,  what  it  would  have  been  for  us. 

"Young  lady,"  said  Lancaster  with  a  polite 
bow,  feeling  of  the  middle  part  in  his  hair,  and 
smoothing  at  his  tie  lest  it  be  riding  his  collar, 
"we  know  Jim  Bob  has  slipped  you  the  title-deed 
to  keep  for  him,  but  I'm  sure  you  weren't  told  that 
it's  stolen  property.  Jim  Bob  took  it  from  Mr. 
Gleason's  desk;  it's  a  deed  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gleason 
signed  more  than  a  week  ago,  making  over  some 
land  at  the  Springs  to  my  client,  Mr.  Richard 
Purly." 

He  stopped  to  swallow  as  was  his  wont  when 
his  mouth  was  full  of  words.  "It  wasn't  recorded, 
for  we  couldn't  agree  about  the  fee  until  this 
evening.  I  know  Jim  Bob  was  following  us,  and 
when  we  went  into  the  garden  he  must  have 
slipped  into  the  house.  As  soon  as  we  found  it 
gone,  Mrs.  Gleason,  to  our  amazement,  said  she 
regretted  having  ever  signed  the  deed,  and  she 
refuses  to  sign  a  duplicate." 

"My  wife,"  said  Gleason  with  an  ugly  look  at 
Lane  Laclede,  "has  been  influenced  by  fool  argu- 
ments about  what's  for  the  good  of  the  town,  and 
it  shames  me  to  have  to  admit  that  she  sets  up 
her  opinions  against  my  authority." 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         101 

"Young  lady "  Lancaster  coaxed,  smooth- 
ing his  hair-scallops. 

"I've  never  met  the  gentleman  you  call  'Jim 
Bob',"  she  spoke  clear  and  cold,  "and  I  know 
nothing  about  the  title-deed.  But  I  do  know  how 
Taggart  Gleason  loafs  about  town  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets  while  Mrs.  Gleason  is  working  her 
fingers  to  the  bone.  And  I  glory  in  her  spirit, 
that  for  once  she  dares  have  a  mind  of  her  own." 

"It's  the  crazy  school  teacher!"  Taggart 
shouted,  his  eyes  green  with  spite.  "Boys,  Jim 
Bob  has  persuaded  a  poor  mad  girl  to  cover  up 
his  theft,  the  same  girl  that  boarded  at  my  house 
till  she  lost  her  mind  and  raved  at  me — I've  been 
trying  to  remember  where  I'd  seen  her." 

"Well,  /  never  see  her  before,"  said  Jim  Bob, 
helpless. 

"Jim  Bob,"  I  demanded,  stern,  "where  is  that 
title-deed?" 

He  looked  at  me,  reproachful.  "I'm  not  a-talk- 
ing,  Stick  Attum." 

Purly  interrupted:  "We  all  saw  that  it's  hid- 
den in  her  dress." 

Desperate,  she  snatched  the  paper  from  her 
bosom— "Take  it!" 

Snatching  it  from  her  fingers  he  ran  wrth  it  to 


102        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

the  nearest  lantern,  and  Bill,  looking  over  his 
shoulder,  read  aloud:  "I  perceive,  O  Youth,  that 
thou  art  very  near  Wisdom  .  .  ."  It  was  a  part 
from  our  play.  "That's  no  deed,"  said  Bill,  show- 
ing it  about,  then  putting  it  into  his  pocket  as  a 
souvenir. 

"But  where  is  the  deed?"  Taggart  Gleason  was 
beside  himself  with  disappointment.  "Sheriff,  I 
demand  that  you  arrest  both  of  them  on  the  spot." 

"Easy  now,  Taggart,"  Sheriff  Beam  said,  "re- 
member our  jail  is  being  repaired  and  couldn't 
hold  a  man,  even  Jim  Bob;  and  there's  no  place 
to  put  a  lady.  Just  let  Jim  Bob  tell  us  where  he 
put  the  deed " 

"I'm  not  a-talking,  Cadwitch  Beam."  Jim  Bob 
had  found  a  phrase  to  his  taste,  and  kept  his 
tongue  to  it:  "I'm  not  a-talking." 

"The  girl's  got  it,"  snarled  Gleason,  "and  by 

I  will  have  it !"    And  he  made  a  rush  at  her. 

But  the  next  moment,  in  his  recoil — for  he  was 
too  old — he  went  down  in  a  heap;  and  there 
stood  our  plucky  hostess  with  a  light  in  her  eye 
and  a  pistol  in  her  hand.  She  had  the  best  of  the 
argument,  as  Wisdom  always  should,  by  right. 

"Look  out,  boys,"  and  I  lifted  my  arms  high, 
pretending  to  be  scared  to  death,  "put  up  your 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         103 

hands,  or  you're  dead  menl"  Bill  imitated  me, 
and  it  proved  contagious.  Even  Gleason,  huddled 
on  the  floor,  raised  palms  above  ears  while 
propped  upon  his  elbow. 

"Now,  Mr.  Jim  Bob  Whoever-you-are,"  she 
said,  unkind,  motioning  her  pistol  at  my  inade- 
quate old  friend,  "go  over  there  and  join  your 
own  crowd,  for  you  don't  belong  to  mine." 

As  he  slouched  amongst  us,  thus  clearing  her 
way,  she  slowly  stepped  backward  to  the  window, 
saying,  crisp  and  cold,  "If  I  knew  where  that  title- 
deed  was,  I  wouldn't  tell." 

I  don't  know  how  she  did  it:  one  moment  she 
was  covering  us  with  her  pretty  silver-mounted 
weapon ;  the  next,  she  was  skimming  through  the 
window  and  was  gone. 

"And  she's  got  that  title-deed!"  Gleason 
groaned,  seeing  the  money  for  the  Rockpile  melt- 
ing away.  "Hasn't  she  got  it,  Jim  Bob?  Hasn't 
she?" 

Jim  Bob  rolled  his  eyes,  desperate.  "I'm  not 
a-talking,"  he  gave  us. 

"After  her,  boys!"  called  Purly  springing  to- 
ward the  window  with  me  close  behind  to  check 
him,  though  I  did  stop  on  the  way  to  swing  Tag- 
gart  Gleason  to  his  feet.  He  had  cut  a  sorry 


104        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

figure,  truly,  but,  after  all,  he  was  old  and  had 
spent  his  years  in  Mizzouryville,  and  had  mar- 
ried a  girl  very  dear  to  me. 

On  being  lifted  up,  he  darted  after  Purly  like 
a  toy  horse  that  spurts  forward  when  first  wound 
up  and  set  with  wheels  to  the  floor;  and  they  two 
were  almost  at  the  wide  ledge  when  in  a  flash 
there  was  the  girl-out-of-the-common  with  her 
pistol  leveled  through  the  open  window,  looking 
uncommonly  capable.  I  don't  believe  I  ever  saw 
a  lovelier  sight,  not  in  an  animated  way. 

"I  forgot  to  say  good-night,"  she  murmured, 
aiming  straight  at  Purly's  temple. 

He  reeled  back  with  his  hands  before  his  face, 
and  down  again  on  the  floor  went  Taggart  Glea- 
son,  his  terrified  eyes  rolling  toward  me  as  if  to 
ask  why  I  had  ever  picked  him  up. 

She  looked  down  at  him  and  said,  "God  help 
the  woman  who  swore  to  obey  you  until  parted  by 
death!"  She  didn't  sound  angry  or  scornful,  but 
sort  of  prophetic,  I  thought.  After  a  silent  min- 
ute, she  looked  over  at  Bill  with  a  special  gleam 
in  her  eye  like  the  last  dance  of  a  candle  before  it 
says  farewell.  Then  she  vanished  to  go  back  to 
the  world  where  she  had  left  her  name. 


XI 


//  a  Man's  Work  Stops  with  His  Last  Breath, 
It's  a  Mighty  Poor  Life  That  Hasn't  a  Mighty 
Big  Work  to  Show  for  It 

r~  |  ^HE  events  of  that  night  are  as  closely  linked 
J_  together  in  my  memory  as  if  I  held  the 
chain  in  my  hand.  But  after  that,  sharpness  of 
vision  is  blurred  by  a  number  of  overlapping  im- 
pressions such  as  faintly  picture  the  average  days 
of  one's  life,  and  out  of  all  nothing  stands  forth 
with  notable  persistence. 

After  Bill  found  the  title-deed  hidden  away 
in  the  attic,  no  one  thought  less  of  Jim  Bob's 
judgment  or  execution,  because  less  couldn't  be 
thought.  The  recovered  paper  did  not  clear  the 
strange  girl  from  dark  suspicions;  for  the  Chi- 
nese lanterns  and  scraps  of  food  found  in  the 
chapel  put  her  in  a  bad  light  as  one  flying  the 
earth  with  no  place  for  the  sole  of  her  foot. 

105 


106        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

At  Taggart  Gleason's  expense  (or,  to  be  ex- 
act, at  Mrs.  Gleason's)  there  followed  an  orgy 
of  detective  work,  conducted  by  our  young  law- 
yer Lancaster  Overstreet — more  often  called 
"Lanky."  Every  time  I  visited  Old  Settlers' 
Bench,  I  was  relieved  to  find  that  none  of  Lan- 
caster's "working  hypotheses"  for  the  finding  of 
the  little  wanderer  had  wrought  a  finished  job. 
I  was  content  that  she  should  never  be  heard  of 
again,  for  though  charming,  she  was  disturbing 
to  a  settled  man.  I  was  built  to  ride  in  a  safe 
harbor,  and  never  find  myself  blown  out  into  an 
uncharted  sea  without  straining  my  eyes  for 
familiar  land.  And  as  to  Bill,  did  he  not  have 
Laidie  in  prospect? 

But  when  some  one  comes  into  your  life  and 
touches  your  soul,  you  can  never  be  just  as  you 
were  before — and  Bill  had  been  touched  to  the 
depths.  There  were  times  when  I  considered  with 
bitterness  the  lines  of  our  divergence,  we  who 
had  always  traveled  parallel.  .  .  .  Such  a  small 
household — just  the  two  of  us!  I  had  always 
thought  the  shop  would  be  for  Bill  when  I  was 
gone;  not  only  the  hull  of  a  building,  but  the 
memories  he  should  inherit  along  with  the  prop- 
erty. When  I  made  the  discovery  that  he  meant 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         107 

to  be  no  blacksmith,  I  looked  ahead  and  seemed 
to  see  the  end  of  my  lifework.  It  would  stop 
with  me.  When  the  anvil  should  ring  with  that 
music  that's  fuller  of  meaning  than  any  on  con- 
cert program,  the  hands  of  a  stranger  would  strike 
the  blows.  Times  came  when  I'd  suddenly  stop 
in  my  labors  to  ask  myself,  Why  go  on  building 
up  a  business  that  my  arm  alone  must  sustain? 

But  at  first,  like  Jim  Bob,  I  wasn't  saying  any- 
thing. When  I'd  come  upon  Bill  in  some  corner 
with  his  forehead  wrinkled  and  a  scabby  textbook 
in  his  strong  hand,  I  would  make  as  if  it  were  no 
more  to  me  than  a  fly  on  the  ceiling.  I  had  op- 
posed his  stopping  school,  for  though  too  much 
learning  will  sink  a  man  unless  of  stout  bottom,  a 
moderate  amount  helps  keep  him  afloat;  but  when 
stop  he  would,  I  gave  him  fair  wages  in  the  shop. 
For,  as  I  see  it,  the  money  that  your  work  yields 
is  the  honey  in  the  flower. 

I  had  dismissed  a  steady  hand  to  give  Bill  his 
chance,  so  he  didn't  feel  it  honorable  to  ask  re- 
lease, yet  I  found  him  restive  in  the  harness,  his 
heart  lagging  behind  his  feet.  In  the  early  hours 
and  late  at  night,  he  made  bold  with  his  books. 

Of  evenings  we  had  been  accustomed  to  rise  at 
the  stroke  of  nine,  to  close  the  day's  history.  I'd 


io8        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

lay  in  its  niche  my  unfinished  novel  while  Bill 
would  stand  on  end  that  guitar  for  which,  in  an 
evil  hour,  he  had  taken  a  liking — and  it  was 
"good-night,"  and  each  to  his  own  chamber,  with 
the  breeze  rippling  over  the  bed  and  only  the  sun- 
rise to  tell  us  we  had  been  asleep. 

Now  all  was  changed.  When  he  at  first  began 
to  mutiny  against  bedtime,  I'd  prop  my  eyelids  for 
an  extra  chapter,  unless  my  book  said,  "And  now 
let  us  return  to  so-and-so,"  in  which  case  I  could 
never  bear  another  word.  But  when  I  found  that 
no  matter  how  I  might  bivouac  with  him  about  the 
lamp,  he  could  go  me  an  hour  better,  as  having 
the  brace  of  youth  to  his  back,  sometimes  I'd  art- 
fully lay  out  the  guitar  for  him  to  stumble  over. 
He,  however,  was  not  to  be  coaxed  upon  his 
"Spanish  Fandango,"  of  which  I  had  formerly  had 
more  than  enough.  As  he  labored  under  his  self- 
imposed  slavery,  I  knew  just  as  well  that  the  his- 
tory, rhetoric,  or  what  not  was  giving  him  pains, 
as  if  a  doctor  had  just  mounted  his  horse  to  ride 
away,  a  glass  of  medicine  left  on  the  table  covered 
with  an  old  letter,  a  spoon  atop  to  hold  it  there 
when  the  door  should  open.  And  when  at  last  he 
found  himself  floundering  in  mire  too  deep  for  his 
length  of  leg,  I  knew  our  minister  would  get  him. 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        109 

Brother  Wane  was  a  good  man,  though 
wooden;  and  such  was  his  zeal  to  get  people  out 
to  meeting  (though  handing  them  but  little  when 
they  came  save  warmed-over  foodstuffs)  that  he 
would  go  a  mile  to  persuade  a  man  churchward — 
his  visits  acting  upon  me  contrariwise.  He,  honest 
soul  and  learned,  gave  Bill  many  a  pull  to  his  feet 
that  landed  him  in  the  pew  of  Sundays,  no  doubt 
thinking  to  lure  me  thither.  But  too  well  did  I 
know  what  would  be  my  portion  there;  for  to 
such  a  degree  did  Brother  Wane  exhaust  and 
strain  himself  to  keep  going  the  church  machinery 
— his  committees  working  upon  each  other  like 
cogs  of  neighboring  wheels,  and  his  couriers  sent 
flying  on  special  missions  such  as  Flowers,  the 
Sick,  Transients,  Stay-at-homes  and  Sunday  school- 
pupils  whether  Red  Button,  Blue  Button  or 
simply  Banner — there  was,  I  say,  nothing  left  of 
the  man  when  in  the  pulpit  but  a  physical  reac- 
tion. But  of  course  it  was  chiefly  the  organ  that 
kept  me  at  home  to  my  Sunday  newspaper,  for 
when  there's  no  obstacle  but  a  dull  sermon,  I  can 
sit  at  bay  as  well  as  another,  and  feed  my  belly 
with  dry  husks. 

In  the  meantime,  I  was  kept  uneasy  over  Tag- 
gart  Gleason's  expulsion  from  Old  Settlers'  Bench. 


no        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

To  be  sure,  when  there  he  was  little  but  a  dispute ; 
but  knowing  little  else  was  to  be  expected,  we  had 
borne  ourselves  accordingly.  After  the  quarrel 
he  became  a  permanent  figure  in  the  Bank  Corner 
crowd,  and  there  would  he  abuse  Lane  Laclede 
to  whosoever  would  listen — which  means  every 
man  not  stone  deaf.  For  though  the  Bank  Corner 
men  preferred  to  discuss  the  market  prices  of  corn 
and  cattle,  they  were  ready  for  a  tale  highly  sea- 
soned, and  abuse  was  welcomed,  not  from  ill- 
nature,  but  as  seeming  more  meaty  than  kind 
words. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Gleason  took  up 
what  he  had  laid  aside  the  year  before  his  mar- 
riage— I  mean,  the  habit  of  drinking.  Not  being 
able  to  carry  it  so  well  as  in  younger  days,  he 
grew  loud-mouthed  about  his  wife,  charging  her 
new-born  freedom  of  mind  to  unfaithfulness,  and 
laughing  without  mirth  because  in  spite  of  her 
disloyal  refusal  to  sign  a  duplicate  deed,  and  in 
spite  of  her  pleading  that  the  original  deed,  when 
found,  be  destroyed,  the  Rockpile — hers  by  in- 
heritance— was  now  the  property  of  Richard 
Purly,  with  the  purchase-money  in  the  bank  to 
Taggart's  account. 

Lane  Laclede  heard  what  was  being  said  on 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         in 

Bank  Corner,  and  though  he  gave  no  sign  of 
heeding,  his  deep  calm  did  not  deceive  those  who 
knew  him  best.  I  remember  hearing  Captain  Lit- 
tle Dave  Overstreet  whisper  one  day,  as  he 
crossed  his  legs  with  the  aid  of  both  hands,  "Lanie 
is  a  generous  creditor,  but  Taggart  Gleason  will 
have  to  pay  the  reckoning."  And  whenever  that 
old  soldier  got  his  wooden  leg  crossed  over  the 
other,  it  was  like  drawing  black  lines  to  under- 
score his  words.  It's  small  wonder  that  the  girl- 
out-of-the-common  faded  from  my  mind. 

But  Bill  remembered,  and  the  drought  of  that 
August  did  not  put  an  end  to  his  mental  growth. 
I  knew  if  I  took  notice  of  him  openly  he'd  stand 
in  his  pillory  till  he  dropped.  I  tried  to  find  com- 
fort in  my  own  experience  in  such  bouts — for  at 
the  beginning  of  everything,  there  is  a  certain 
ease — but  however  beguiling  a  book  of  learning 
may  begin,  as,  "The  world  is  round  like  a  ball," 
before  you  know  it,  you've  been  sent  in  quest  of 
some  name  on  a  fine-print  map  that  proves  your 
world  no  smooth  rolling. 

But  when  September  came,  the  clench  of  Bill's 
teeth  had  not  relaxed.  So,  one  Sunday  afternoon, 
I  asked  him  into  our  shop,  to  open  up  the  subject. 


XII 


A  Man's  Horizon  is  Enlarged  as  the  Years  Lift 
Him  Up;  the  Youth  Sees  Only  the  Road  at 
His  Door,  the  Mature  Eye  Glimpses  Whither 
He  Is  Bound 

BILL "  I  began  .  .  .  and  somehow  I 
seemed  to  have  said  all.  The  shop  had  the 
cool,  unusual  smell  of  a  holiday,  being  tight- 
closed  but  for  one  wooden  shutter  that  made  of 
the  sunlight  a  yellow  ladder  stretched  across  the 
dirt  floor.  Bill  was  all  dressed  up  and  looked 
mighty  fine,  having,  since  breakfast,  been  Sunday- 
schooled  and  churched  and  choir-practised,  and 
yet  having  before  him  his  weekly  call  on  Laidie, 
a  young  people's  society,  and  Brother  Wane  at 
night  laboring  in  a  sea  of  rhetoric. 

Bill  turned  a  trifle  pale,  feeling  a  struggle 
coming,  and  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  him  so 
straight  and  handsome — and  determined.  I  had 

112 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         113 

a  blind  impulse  to  wave  my  arm  at  the  anvils,  the 
rows  of  horseshoes,  the  wagonbed  on  its  trestles, 
the  wheels  against  the  wall,  with  the  warm  gloom 
cut  by  the  golden  light  mellowing  all.  But  what 
was  the  use?  He  was  looking  beyond  these 
things;  they  were  never  again  to  catch  at  his 
heart. 

I  walked  to  the  workbench  and  looked  under 
it  just  to  gain  time,  for  I  knew  my  voice  had 
slipped  anchor  and  would  drift  in  a  gale;  but 
when  I  came  back,  I  was,  as  far  as  he  could  see, 
the  same  old  Stick  Attum  talking  to  the  same  old 
Bill.  "Son,  are  you  as  bent  on  getting  an  educa- 
tion as  once  you  were  set  on  getting  rid  of  the 
little  you  had?" 

He  smiled  and  was  relieved,  though  what  he'd 
expected,  I  cannot  say.  It's  a  law  of  nature  that 
no  young  person  can  look  back  at  himself  from 
what  he'll  be  in  twenty  more  years,  to  marvel  at 
his  greenness.  "More,"  he  said,  resolute.  "When 
you  can  find  a  man  to  take  my  place,  I'm  going 
to  law-school.  Every  summer  I'll  earn  enough  to 
carry  me  through  the  next  school-year ;  you'll  give 
me  a  job,  won't  you,  father?  And  when  I've 
graduated,  you'll  close  up  shop  and  come  to  live 
with  me  in  the  city." 


ii4        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

He  had  thought  it  all  out,  planning  as  young 
people  do — building  a  nest  for  his  parent  out  of 
the  stuff  of  his  own  dreams.  Leave  the  shop,  or 
live  anywhere  but  in  Mizzouryville,  I  never 
would  while  the  heavens  were  above  me,  but  as  to 
that  I  said  nothing.  Let  bright  visions  glow  be- 
fore young  eyes ;  they  fade  all  too  soon. 

Suddenly  I  asked,  penetrating,  "Not  a-waver- 
ing,  Bill?" 

"Of  course  not,"  he  answered,  dry  and  hasty. 
Presently  he  quoted  the  speech  Purly  had  taken 
from  the  girl-out-of-the-common ;  he  knew  all  of 
it  by  heart:  "I  perceive,  O  Youth,  that  thou  art 
very  near  Wisdom.  Develop  that  which  is  within 
thee,  work  to  the  utmost  the  true  metal  in  thy 
being,  separate  it  from  the  dross — be  a  Man." 
And  at  the  last  his  words  rang  as  in  a  public 
hall. 

The  silence  was  broken  only  by  the  shavings 
rustling  under  my  feet  as  I  went  here  and  there. 
At  last  I  could  speak  quite  steady.  "Bill,  I'm  a 
Man,  ain't  I?" 

"Best  going,"  says  Bill.  "And  I  want  to  make 
good,  too.  You've  worked  your  metal  to  a  finish 
and  I  want  to  work  mine.  I  don't  believe  a  young 
man  ought  to  imitate  another,  but  to  develop 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         115 

himself.  I  could  be  a  blacksmith,  of  course,  but 
there's  other  metal  here" — he  struck  his  breast 
in  utter  unconsciousness,  for  never  would  he  have 
made  a  gesture  on  purpose.  "It  isn't  that  I  think 
a  lawyer  is  better  than  a  blacksmith,  but  I  can't 
be  a  true  man  any  other  way,  and,  father,  I  mean 
to  be  a  true  man — like  you." 

I  went  over  to  the  empty  furnace  and  worked 
the  bellows  aimlessly.  Somehow,  the  way  Bill 
talked  filled  me  to  the  brim ;  and  when  he  named 
me  a  true  man,  it  seemed  as  if  my  heart  were 
flooded  with  a  sort  of  calm  glory.  But  he  never 
knew  of  my  sensations — just  thought,  like-enough, 
that  I  was  looking  to  see  if  the  ashes  had  been 
emptied.  As  to  that,  I  left  him  untroubled.  Had 
I  tried  to  explain  myself,  I'd  have  been  but  the 
foreign  tongue  of  middle  age  to  the  untrained 
ears  of  a  young  man. 

He  went  on,  his  head  up:  "There's  something 
in  me  to  be  worked,  and  I'm  going  after  the  metal. 
I'd  like  to  meet  the  little  Spirit  some  day,  just  to 
let  her  know  she  didn't  make  a  mistake,  the  night 
she  located  my  mine." 

"Well,  if  you  never  meet  her,  it  won't  matter, 
as  she's  not  one  of  the  share-holders.  But  I 
want  a  few  shares,  son,  such  as  you  can  spare 


ii6        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

from  Laidie ;  and  to  back  up  my  claim,  I  mean  to 
invest  right  now.  I  have  enough  money  in  the 
bank  to  stake  you,  and  if  it's  lost,  I  can  stand  it — 
that's  the  only  system  for  lending  to  kinfolks. 
And  you're  not  to  come  back  home  next  summer 
to  work  for  college-money.  Make  the  first  stay 
till  Christmas  after  next." 

He  shook  his  head.  "No,  father,  I  mean  to  be 
independent." 

"Bill,  Mizzouryville  is  full  of  independent 
folks,  some  of  'em  Job-poor.  Why,  blacksmiths 
are  a  thousand  times  more  independent  than  law- 
yers. No,  son,  if  independence  is  what  you're 
after,  go  and  sit  on  Old  Settlers'  Bench.  What 
you  want  is  success  in  a  city.  Well,  to  get  that, 
you  must  have  polish,  and  I  don't  mean  the  kind 
you  can  buy  in  a  bottle.  What  avails  the  strength 
of  a  horse  if  kept  in  the  stall?  Likewise,  a  law- 
yer is  stalled  without  clients,  which  I  claim  as  a 
flower  of  speech,"  said  I,  "though  possibly  of  no 
higher  degree  than  a  sunflower.  Now,  to  get 
clients,  you  must  make  friends  which  you  can't 
make  by  being  independent,  for  while  friendship 
quickly  springs  from  the  surface,  it  strikes  deep 
only  with  the  forbearance  of  years — which  is  a 
century-plant  at  your  service."  And  I  made  him 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         117 

a  low  bow  out  of  an  engraving  that  »ct  him 
laughing. 

"Now  get  your  hat,"  said  I,  succeeding  fairly 
well  in  a  cheerful  manner,  "for  on  my  thought- 
tree  there's  fruit  grown  ripe  for  the  plucking; 
fruit  that  will  feed  me  a  lawyer  in  the  Attum 
household,  unless  I  am  much  mistaken." 

So  we  went  at  once  to  the  big  brick  mansion 
after  expert  advice — the  only  house  in  Mizzoury- 
ville  with  three  stories  and  a  cupola. 


XIII 

The  More  You  Have  the  Less  You  Need  Pay;  the 
Rich  Man  Can  Have  the  World's  Homage 
Without  Spending  a  Penny  to  Get  It 

THIS  was  the  fruit  of  my  thinking:  to  seek 
advice  of  Mrs.  Peggy  Overstreet  who  stood 
on  the  topmost  rung  of  our  ladder  of  rank.  She 
always  greeted  me  kindly  enough  though  never 
cordial,  being  heavy  from  the  weight  of  impor- 
tance. For  her  husband,  Big  Dave  Overstreet, 
was  as  near  a  millionaire  as  was  ever  seen  in  our 
town;  and  Mrs.  Peggy,  in  consequence,  took  no 
delight  in  any  one  who,  like  myself,  refused  to 
bend  the  knee.  As  guardian  of  Gussie  Meade, 
she  it  was  who  broke  off  our  engagement  to  have 
her  marry  a  man  who  was  not  a  blacksmith;  and 
as  aunt  and  patroness  of  Lancaster  Overstreet, 
she  was  now  standing  between  the  young  lawyer 
and  Taggart  Gleason's  daughter. 

118 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         119 

When  we  were  shown  in — as  carefully  as  if  I 
did  not  know  the  way — we  found  Zenia  Gleason 
— Taggart's  daughter — as  small  and  pretty  and 
useless  as  usual,  and,  as  usual,  worshiping  Mrs. 
Peggy  with  all  her  eyes;  and  I  told  myself  that 
Zenia,  by  servile  homage,  thought  to  feed  her 
social  cravings  from  the  crumbs  that  fell  from  the 
great  lady's  table.  Even  at  that  early  day  it  was 
my  judgment  that  Zenia  cared  less  for  the  body 
and  soul  of  poor  Lanky  than  for  the  fact  that  the 
Overstreets  threw  the  shadow  the  Gleasons  walked 
in — for  if  there  was  ever  a  Gleason  worth  five 
thousand  dollars,  I  never  heard  of  him. 

Mrs.  Peggy  knew  very  well  I'd  no  more  think 
of  coming  to  her  mansion  for  a  social  call  than 
she'd  visit  my  shop  to  be  shod;  but  my  mother 
was  an  Overstreet,  therefore  it  was  not  the  same 
to  her  as  if  I  were  a  blacksmith  clean  through  to 
my  backbone.  As  soon  as  I  said  "private  busi- 
ness," she  turned  and  dismissed  Zenia  Gleason — 

"Run  along,  child,"  she  said,  just  as  if  Zenia 
were  a  pink-faced,  golden-haired  infant,  "and  you 
needn't  come  back  until  I  send  for  you,  for  I'm 
afraid  Somebody  has  been  seeing  too  much  of  you 
lately,  anyhow.  And  I,  myself,  need  a  rest  from 
your  foolish  chatter.'* 


izo        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

And  Zenia  went  away  smiling,  sweet  and  inno- 
cent, as  if  she'd  just  had  her  hand  kissed.  But  I 
said  to  myself  that  if  there  was  as  much  of  Tag- 
gart  in  her  as  I  thought,  she'd  make  Mrs.  Peggy 
pay  for  such  treatment  if  she  ever  got  the  whip- 
hand.  But  to  be  fair  I  must  admit  that,  at  the 
time,  how  she  was  to  get  the  whiphand  never  en- 
tered my  mind. 

As  I  explained  my  affair  Mrs.  Peggy  listened 
with  head  propped  on  jewelled  hand,  her  white 
jiair  lending  her  beauty  that  touch  of  softness 
she'd  lacked  until  time  took  her  in  her  turn. 

When  I  had  finished,  "It  seems  strange,"  said 
she,  "that  you  should  ever  come  to  me  for  ad- 
vice." And  I  knew  she  was  thinking  of  the 
day  I  last  stood  in  that  room,  twenty-one  years 
before,  when  she  had  tried  to  bend  me  from  my 
trade. 

"In  my  business,"  said  I,  "I  stand  or  fall  by 
my  own  judgment.  When  outside  my  line,  I  seek 
expert  advice.  I  don't  know  how  to  make  the 
kind  of  man  Bill  wants  to  be,  though  I  know  'em 
on  sight.  My  money  will  pay  his  board,  the 
school  will  give  him  law,  but  for  his  outer  coat- 
ing, where  is  the  brush?"  It  was  on  my  tongue 
to  amplify  thus — that  Bill  wanted  to  be  curried 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         121 

and  rubbed  down  till  there  should  not  be  a  loose 
Missouri  hair  to  his  hide;  but  when  I  looked 
about  on  the  appointments  of  the  room,  I  saw 
that  was  no  fit  place  in  which  to  drop  my  meta- 
phor, so  merely  added:  "I  want  it  to  be  so  that 
when  people  fall  in  his  way,  they  will  see  sky- 
scrapers and  breathe  Fifth  Avenue." 

She  asked,  "Do  you  mean  for  him  to  locate  in 
New  York  City?" 

"No;  as  I  place  it,  that  would  be  but  to  add 
one  more  paving-stone  for  the  feet  of  the  East- 
erners." 

"And  you  expect  him  to  spend  summer  vaca- 
tions here  at  home?" 

I  shook  my  head.  "Two  months  in  Mizzoury- 
ville,"  said  I,  "would  loosen  all  the  nails  they 
could  drive  abroad  in  ten  months'  time.  I  ask 
for  him  only  at  Christmas  holidays,  that  I  may 
note  his  progress,  having  him  at  concentrated 
gaze." 

All  this  time  Bill  was  doing  himself  and  me  the 
greatest  service  in  his  power;  for  he  stood  with- 
out one  word,  his  eyes  fixed,  his  body  erect  like 
the  lady-statue  on  the  corner  pedestal  though,  of 
course,  with  more  clothes.  So  well  did  Mrs. 
Peggy  think  of  his  silence — which  she  set  down 


122        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

to  awe  of  her  high  state — that  she  was  won  com- 
pletely over. 

A  week  from  that  day  Bill  was  embedded  in 
the  nest  of  a  St.  Louis  family,  the  head  of  it  a 
widow  and  none  other  than  Mrs.  Peggy  Over- 
street's  sister.  She  had  refused  to  speak  to  me 
ever. since  I  built  Horseshoe  House,  therefore  was 
suitably  high-minded,  while  having  but  sons  for 
children,  she  offered  no  danger  to  Laidie's  hap- 
piness. 


XIV 

The  Modern  Man  Cannot  Live  Close  to  Nature — 
Even  in  the  Garden  of  Eden  There  Came  Up 
the  Question  of  Clothes 

SINCE  that  Christmas  was  too  near  at  hand 
to  break  in  upon  Bill's  development,  it  was 
the  Christmas  Eve  following  ere  he  stepped  from 
the  train  into  my  arms,  but  from  the  hug  he  gave 
me  I  knew  that  as  yet  St.  Louis  had  not  scratched 
far  below  his  surface. 

"Jove !  but  it's  good  to  be  back  home,"  he  cried 
gaily,  side-stepping  to  slap  on  the  back  our  old 
station-master  who  bore  it  well  considering  how 
he  despised  to  be  touched,  or  even  questioned.  I 
was  content.  His  "Jove" — a  word  that  could  no 
more  thrive  in  the  air  of  Mizzouryville  than  a 
banana-tree — was  the  word  of  Esau;  but  his 
heartiness  was  that  of  Jacob. 

As  I  walked  him  homeward  over  the  rattling 
123 


124        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

sidewalks  (to  show  that  however  he'd  educated 
himself  to  taxis  and  jitneys  I  was  in  my  natural 
state  of  leg)  I  told  him  of  the  big  dinner  Laidie 
was  to  give  us  on  the  morrow,  and  he  groaned 
at  the  prospect.  For  every  year  at  Christmas 
time  Laidie  set  us  down  to  table  with  Taggart 
Gleason  and  wife  because  Dahlia — Taggart's 
wife — had  been  one  of  my  pets  since  her  infancy. 
This  annual  dinner  was  about  the  only  enjoyment 
Taggart  still  permitted  his  wife,  as  I  reminded 
Bill  in  reproving  tones:  and  I  went  on  to  call  to 
his  mind  how,  ever  since  Dahlia,  an  orphan  of 
three,  had  toddled  through  the  shop  door  with 
her,  "I  love  oo,  Stick,"  she  had  ever  come  to  me 
for  advice  in  all  her  affairs — until,  alas !  her  time 
of  husband-getting. 

Bill  sighed.  "Maybe  Old  Datty  will  let  her 
come  without  him,"  he  said,  but  not  hopeful. 
"Has  he  done  much  drinking  and  blowing  around 
since  I  left  home?" 

"He's  drunk  deep  and  blown  loud.  But  after 
his  sprees  he's  sane  enough  to  know  there's  never 
been  anything  between  Dahlia  and  Lane  Laclede." 

"Do  you  know,  father,"  he  raid,  easy  and  su- 
perior, "I've  learned  a  good  deal  in  the  city 
about  the  pressure  that  drives  husband  and  wife 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         125 

apart,  and  I'm  not  so  sure  that  Laclede — and 
Mrs.  Gleason " 

I  interrupted,  dry,  "And  the  minister  is  invited. 
You'll  be  sorry  to  hear,  Bill,  that  Brother  Wane's 
time  with  us  is  dubious;  it  seems  the  church  ma- 
chinery he's  been  at  such  pains  to  set  up  threatens 
to  grind  him  to  powder." 

"Father,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  call  me  'Bill.' ' 

"Which?"  said  I,  groping. 

"William,"  he  says,  succinct.  "It's  'William 
Attum'  in  the  Bible  and  I  prefer  'William'  in  the 
open." 

I  asked,  short,  "And  do  you  want  your  last 
named  changed  to  Molecule?" 

He  laughed  and  laughed  till  by-and-by  I  must 
needs  smile,  for  I'd  said  something,  and  knew  it. 
But  I  wouldn't  cross  him.  There  seemed  more 
life  in  "Bill,"  and  more  art  in  "William,"  and 
of  course  naturalness  was  what  he  wished  to 
outgrow.  For  after  all  is  said,  only  savages  do 
as  they  please — the  closer  a  man  is  to  nature, 
the  less  he  cares  who  sees  him  put  knife  in 
mouth. 

When  we  stood  on  the  lawn  closed  in  by  the 
arms  of  Horseshoe  House  where  we  had  once 
talked  to  the  girl-out-of-the-common,  I  asked,  ab- 


126        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

rupt,  and  just  like  this,  "Son,  have  you  ever  seen 
her?"  (Call  him  "William,"  I  wouldn't.) 

He  knew  exactly  whom  I  meant.  "Never, 
father,"  says  William — for  so  he  must  now  be 
called,  as  say  the  books  in  my  smokehouse  when 
the  hero  turns  out  to  be  the  duke's  son.  Then  he 
added  with  an  air  so  condescending  that  I  was 
dumbfounded — "What  a  charming  little  thing  she 
was!  So  unsophisticated,  with  her  games  and 
plays — ha,  ha  I  Well,  father,  my  city  experience 
tells  me  that  in  spite  of  her  wanderings,  she  was 
pure  as  gold.  I'd  like  to  meet  her  again.  Jove  1" 

"Don't  do  that  too  often,"  said  I,  hasty.  "Let's 
go  in  by  the  parlor-door."  And  having  him  that 
evening  all  to  myself,  I  sounded  him  well,  to  find 
if  my  plummet  would  show  a  depth  in  his  cur- 
rents over  my  head.  But  as  yet,  no. 


XV 


No  Matter  How  Young  a  Man  May  Feel,  It's  by 
His  Looks  That  He  Gets  Measured 

I  DON'T  think  Laidie  was  ever  busier  than  on 
the  next  day.  To  say  nothing  of  acting  host- 
ess, she  had  to  keep  the  resentment  of  her  cook 
(who  despised  company)  from  bursting  into 
flame,  and  she  had  to  hide  her  deep  affection  for 
Dahlia,  and  aggrandize  Taggart  Gleason  in  order 
to  keep  him  in  a  good  humor.  Miss  Lindy — the 
cook — wouldn't  open  the  door  to  guests,  lest  her 
spirit  of  independence  catch  cold  in  the  draught, 
so  it  was  Laidie  who  met  us,  all  excitement,  with 
cheeks  bright-red — just  the  sort  of  roses  to  set 
off  her  fine  raven  hair.  I  was  so  moved  at  sight 
of  her  that  I  muttered  to  William,  "Say  'Jove'  if 
you  want  to!" 

It  was  a  turkey  dinner  with  oyster  dressing  that 
Laidie  had  made  herself — the  gravy  not  thin  and 

127 


128        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

whitish,  nor  greasy,  though  rich  with  giblets,  and 
at  the  end  of  the  long  vista  of  good  dishes  there 
were  mince  and  pumpkin  pies,  a  slice  of  each  to 
every  man  with  no  talk  of  which  he  preferred,  and 
a  glass  of  thick  yellow  cream  alongside.  But  on 
that  table  everything  tasted  of  Taggart  Gleason. 
There  he  sat,  cold  and  out  of  place,  like  a  block 
of  salt  in  the  ice  cream  of  our  holiday. 

At  his  side,  poor  Dahlia  cowered,  timid  and 
dumb,  her  pretty  young  face  composed  in  lines  of 
dutiful  submission;  and  the  rest  of  us  trembled 
behind  our  plates  as  he  gave  us  Washington  City 
in  statistics.  I  had  a  brief  hope  that  William 
after  fifteen  months  in  St.  Louis  might  be  backed 
up  against  this  bore,  but  when  I  saw  the  lack- 
luster gaze  in  his  eye,  I  knew  my  son  had  fallen 
under  the  old  spell. 

This  Influence,  this  breath  of  Alaska,  had  so 
much  to  do  with  what  happened  that  night,  I 
cannot  make  too  much  of  it — yet  I  hold  my  hand. 
For  what  boots  it  how  carefully  I  round  my  tale 
if  it  be  not  read?  Now,  Taggart  Gleason  had 
been  born  in  Washington  City,  therefore,  as  we 
supposed,  had  picked  up  his  facts  and  figures  with 
his  own  hands,  whereas  we  had  no  connection 
with  the  place  save  to  help  send  men  there  who 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         129 

in  return  sent  us  packets  of  ill-advised  garden- 
seeds. 

William,  indeed,  made  one  attempt  at  our  res- 
cue. As  Taggart  closed  his  account  of  the  Treas- 
ury Building  and  was  about  to  lead  us  to  the 
Patent  Office,  my  son  called  on  me  to  tell  the 
anecdote  of  Curd  Tooterflail  and  the  red  rooster. 
I  have  a  store  of  anecdotes,  all  selected  and  tried 
as  being  good  for  more  than  one  laugh,  and  Wil- 
liam was  proud  of  them.  He  loved  to  have  me 
open  up  for  the  entertainment  of  friends  and  on 
state  occasions  would  cry,  "Now,  father,  tell 
about  so-an<l-so";  and  he  would  be  the  very  first 
to  smile.  But  when  I  caught  Taggart's  cold, 
hard-boiled  eye,  I  knew  I  could  never  get  the  red 
rooster  thiough  with  a  feather  to  his  tail,  so 
shook  my  head. 

"You  referred  to  the  Patent  Office,"  says 
Brother  Wane,  patient — and  I  will  say  this  for 
the  minister,  he  was  a  man  who  turned  the  other 
cheek. 

After  dinner  William,  as  guest  of  honor,  was 
placed  in  a  corner  to  be  surfeited  on  data,  while 
the  minister  hovered  on  the  outskirts,  and  in  this 
way,  Dahlia  was  given  a  breath  of  freedom.  We 
took  her  here  and  there,  staying  out  of  the  room 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

as  long  as  we  dared,  to  breathe  the  snow-laden 
air.  William  knew  if  he  failed  to  show  deep  in- 
terest, Taggart  would  look  about  for  his  wife  and 
grow  resentful  toward  us  for  trying  to  make  her 
happy,'  so  he  stood  to  his  duty;  and  as  he  sat 
under  the  Influence,  his  city  surface  began  peeling 
off  him  till,  by  dusk,  he  seemed  as  small  and  piti- 
ful as  if  he  had  crawled  back  on  all-fours  to  his 
early  boyhood. 

Laidie's  grandfather,  in  his  Sunday  suit  cleaned 
and  brushed  by  Laidie,  passed  a  troubled  day. 
B.  had  taken  a  mean  advantage  of  her  by  cling- 
ing to  his  undershirt  and  such  was  its  length  of 
arm  and  dinginess  of  woolen  wristlets  that  one 
or  the  other  was  constantly  showing  itself,  caus- 
ing me  to  think  of  his  nicely  starched  cuffs  as 
whited  sepulchers  full  of  what  should  have  been 
buried.  The  efforts  B.  made  to  tuck  back  those 
soiled  wristlets  unbeknown  to  Taggart  Gleason, 
were  enough  to  bring  on  the  second  stroke,  yet 
I  knew  he  would  take  no  lesson  from  his  plight, 
age  and  sloth  had  that  grip  on  his  being. 

Ah!  With  what  alacrity  we  skipped  to  our 
feet  when  Brother  Wane  said  if  we  didn't  hurry 
we'd  be  late  to  services, — church  always  begins  at 
seven  of  winter  nights  lest  the  dark  catch  us 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         131 

amongst  deceitful  sidewalks  with  their  pitfalls  of 
missing  planks. 

"Stick,"  says  Gleason,  clinging  to  his  easy  chair, 
and  all  forgeful  of  our  past  differences  over  the 

Rockpile,  "if  you  don't  care  to  go  to  meeting " 

And  I  sensed  the  Post  Office  with  all  its  ramifica- 
tions in  the  terrible  memory  of  the  man. 

"But  I  am  going,"  I  gave  cry,  searching  for 
my  hat;  now,  at  that  moment,  the  organ  in  the 
meeting-house  seemed  to  me  no  bigger  than  a 
flea.  "But  if  my  son " 

William  melted  through  the  door  like  a  dis- 
solving view  in  a  lecture  on  Famous  People  I 
Have  Met,  and  in  the  confusion  of  setting  forth 
I  heard  a  sly  sound  from  the  dining-room  to  tell 
me  he  and  Laidie  were  each  clapping  a  slice  of 
cold  turkey  between  the  halves  of  biscuits,  prop- 
erly buttered,  with  a  pickle  as  outrider.  It  made 
me  hungry,  not  for  food  (Sunday  evenings,  I 
never  take  a  morsel)  but  for  the  youth  that  sea- 
soned those  sandwiches,  for  the  youth  that  quick- 
ened their  steps  as  they  darted  down  an  alley 
toward  the  church,  for  the  youth  that  made  their 
eyes  glow  as  they  sat  side  by  side  on  the  back 
bench. 

I  might  feel  just  that  young,  but  no  one  would 


132        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

believe  it  of  me,  seeing  me  so  large  and  palpable. 
I  took  my  seat  where  I  hadn't  sat  for  three  years 
and  as  I  looked  at  the  organ  I  spoke  to  myself 
thus:  If  Taggart  Gleason  could  drive  me  hither 
to  hear  a  gum-chewing  stripling  churn  wind  for 
melody,  with  one  note  never  still,  it,  although  un- 
touched, sounding  forth  no  matter  what  other 
notes  came  and  went — what  might  not  William 
do,  in  his  joy  of  escape?  Laidie  must  appear  to 
him  as  a  dream  of  beauty  and  peace;  and  I  felt 
sure  that  the  reaction  would  land  him  safe  and 
sound  in  the  bonds  of  a  formal  engagement. 

The  main  bulk  of  the  singing  was  done  by  the 
choir,  they  looking  down  from  the  platform  with 
disfavoring  eye  upon  any  in  the  congregation  ven- 
turing to  lift  a  timid  voice,  it  being  part  of  the 
church  machinery  for  a  group  of  youngsters  to 
specialize  on  the  hymns,  whilst  the  rest  sat  at 
gaze.  To-night,  the  young  people  being  away 
at  their  festivities — for  in  another  church-house 
there  was  a  Christmas  Tree — the  choir  was 
formed  of  true-hearted  ladies  of  an  age  when 
spectacles  do  not  come  amiss  yet  are  not  publicly 
used,  being  regarded  as  monuments  to  departed 
youth.  Therefore,  conversant  with  their  tunes, 
but  seeing  not  their  words,  they  lifted  their  voices 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         133 

in  smothered  cries,  as  in  distress.  Laidie  and 
William  I  could  hear  singing  away  in  great  force, 
and  from  them,  occasionally,  I  got  a  key  to  the 
mystery  in  the  forecastle — and,  more  than  that, 
a  key  to  their  hearts,  for  well  enough  I  knew 
what  such  singing  betokened,  call  it  "religion"  if 
you  will. 

Brother  Wane  found  himself  in  the  strange 
case  of  facing  a  packed  house,  for  all  those  not 
believing  in  a  Christmas  Tree  on  Sunday  night 
had  flocked  to  hear  him.  Anxious  to  offend  no 
one  of  conflicting  views,  he  was  afraid  to  handle 
the  Word  of  God  lest  it  pierce  a  neighbor's  opin- 
ion, so  gave  us  a  discourse  on  the  Greatness  of 
Man. 

Flip  (Laidie's  dog)  had  followed  Van  Buren 
Hightower  to  church,  though  not  discovered  till 
found  lying  at  ease  by  the  old  gentleman's  feet, 
therefore  not  removed;  for  if  Flip  did  not  fall  to 
scratching  (his  elbow  pounding  the  floor  like 
some  housewife  beating  steak  for  breakfast)  it 
were  far  better  to  endure  the  silent  offensiveness 
of  him  than  stop  the  sermon  with  his  yelps.  In 
such  general  terms  did  Brother  Wane  address  us 
and  so  insufferably  dull  his  droning,  telling  us 
that  we  had  intellects  and  the  like  whereas  ani- 


i34        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

mals  are  otherwise,  that  at  last  from  my  thought- 
tree  a  thought  came  sailing  down  like  a  leaf  un- 
duly ripe  and  like-enough  of  as  little  value — it  was 
this:  that  however  great  man  may  be  and  how- 
ever wideawake  his  intellect,  I  saw  where  Flip 
scored  a  point  over  him  just  then.  For  old  Flip 
just  lay  there  peaceful,  never  wrinkling  his  eyes 
except  at  such  odd  moments  as  B.  remem- 
bered his  wristlets  and  plucked  them  back,  auto- 
matic. 

But  when,  on  the  way  home,  I  referred  to  the 
sermon  as  probably  the  last  I  should  ever  hear 
Brother  Wane  deliver 

"Why?"  William  exclaimed,  rousing  himself. 

"I  thought  it  pretty  good "  And  he  just  from 

the  city!  I  didn't  say  anything;  I'd  learned  that 
from  Jim  Bob ;  but  I  knew  what  was  coming — 

"Father!"  he  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder 
as  we  walked  along.  "It's  settled;  Laidie  and 
I  are  to  be  married  when  I  finish  my  studies." 
He  went  on,  calm  and  superior-like :  "She's  a 
fine  girl.  She'd  make  any  man  a  good  wife. 
When  a  fellow  starts  out  in  life  to  win  his  way 
among  strangers  he  couldn't  do  better  than  to 
have  a  sensible,  capable  girl  like  Laidie." 

When  we  reached  Horseshoe  House  I  took  a 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         135 

good  look  at  him  as  he  lit  the  parlor  lamp:  just 
as  cool  as  a  cucumber,  he  was. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  smiled,  "down  there  in  St. 
Louis  I  got  afraid  that  she  might  not  fit  into  my 
scheme  of  life,  don't  you  know." 

"Then  you  should  change  your  schemes,"  I 
told  him,  flat. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  change  that,"  he  cried,  hasty. 
"But  it's  all  right.  She'll  fit  in.  She's  such  a  sub- 
stantial girl — just  what  I'll  need.  Well,  it's  set- 
tled: a  year  from  next  June  it's  to  be,  and  in  the 
meantime  I  won't  have  to  bother  my  head  about 
it.  I'll  just  put  the  whole  thing  out  of  my  mind; 
one  can  work  to  better  advantage  so.  Of  course 
I'll  write  to  her — occasionally.  I  hate  to  write 
letters  with  nothing  in  'em.  Our  wedding's 
to  be  exceedingly  plain.  And,  father" — he 
smiled  again — "we'll  leave  Taggart  Gleason  out 
of  it." 

"To  my  mind,"  I  said,  dry,  "Old  Datty  ought 
to  be  the  best  man ;  he's  done  considerable  to  bring 
this  thing  about."  He  shrugged  his  shoulders; 
it  was  the  first  time  I'd  ever  seen  anybody  do  it, 
but  I  knew  it  at  once  by  the  books  in  the  smoke- 
house. 

Of  course  my  meaning  had  gone  clean  over 


136        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

his  head.  As  to  that,  the  full  meaning  of  win- 
ning such  a  wonder  as  Laidie  had  been  lost  in 
air.  William  sat  down  before  the  fireplace  as  if 
expecting  the  backlog  to  crawl  in  from  the  wood- 
pile to  its  own  funeral  pyre.  When  he  presently 
saw  me  coming  with  the  wood,  up  he  jumped, 
prompt  enough — it  was  simply  that  he  had  for- 
gotten some  of  the  old  ways.  He  took  it  from 
me  to  place  on  the  flames,  and,  finding  soot  on 
his  hands,  looked  about,  helpless.  He  may  have 
been  seeking  a  lavatory,  I  don't  know,  I  paid 
no  attention. 

When  the  fire  was  dancing  merrily  we  settled 
back  in  our  chairs,  and  how  we  did  talk!  And 
wonderful  things  he  related.  But  none  of  them 
seemed  to  me  so  wonderful  as  his  sitting  there 
fairly  bursting  with  interest  in  his  own  affairs, 
and  Laidie  quite  forgotten — not  even  a  remorse- 
ful twinge  left  because  he  had  chosen  me  for  his 
night's  companion,  leaving  Laidie  to  go  home 
from  church  with  her  grandfather  and  the  dog. 
It  wasn't  so  much  that  he  failed  to  realize  his 
tremendous  good  fortune,  but  that  he  couldn't 
have  been  made  to  understand  the  sadness  of  his 
spiritual  lack. 

At  one  time  my  mind  showed  itself  so   far 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         137 

afield  that  he  brought  up,  reproachful,  with — 
"What  are  you  thinking  about,  father?" 

"Flip,"  said  I. 

It  was  about  an  hour  later — the  clock  had  just 
struck  eleven — when  we  were  startled  by  run- 
ning footsteps  on  our  yard-path.  Something  fell 
against  the  door,  giving  it  a  jar  that  made  the 
knob  rattle;  then  I  recognized  Dahlia  Gleason's 
voice,  high  and  strained — 

"Let  me  in,  Stick — let  me  in — oh,  let  me  in!" 
— just  as,  in  the  old  days,  she  used  to  run  to  me 
with  each  fresh  hurt. 

But  well  I  knew,  before  I  could  get  to  the  door, 
that  something  had  befallen  that  night  not  to 
be  soothed  away  by  the  touch  of  a  friend's  hand. 


XVI 

'You  Can't  See  Far  Below  a  Man's  Surface  When 
His  Sky  Is  Flooded  with  Sunshine 

AS  soon  as  I  let  her  through  the  door  she 
pushed  it  shut  and  stood  with  her  back 
against  it,  but  being  out  of  breath  from  running 
and  weak  from  fright,  she  would  have  fallen 
if  I  had  not  caught  her  in  my  arms.  "He'll  kill 
me  if  he  gets  to  me,"  was  all  she  said. 

William's  face  went  dark  as  he  sprang  to  the 
door.  I  eased  her  to  a  chair  and  we  waited  with 
held  breath,  not  looking  at  each  other,  and  some- 
where a  dog  began  howling — an  unearthly  sound 
in  the  icebound  night,  to  make  one's  flesh  creep. 

This  was  the  first  time  Taggart  Gleason,  in 
drunken  fury,  had  ever  driven  his  wife  out  of 
doors,  and  not  knowing  it  was  to  be  the  last,  I 
felt  black  anger  against  the  smooth-faced  tyrant, 
who,  a  few  hours  earlier,  had  been  so  soft  of 

138 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         139 

voice  and  flabby  of  hand.  While  we  waited  in 
silence  for  I  did  not  know  what,  a  shot  rang  out, 
as  startling  in  the  dead  stillness  as  the  sting  of 
a  knifeblade,  and  a  cry  followed  shrill  and  quaver- 
ing, losing  itself  in  the  dog's  howl. 

Then  William  and  I  looked  at  each  other,  but 
neither  at  Dahlia,  who,  but  for  her  tightened  grip 
on  my  arm,  gave  no  sign  of  having  heard. 

Down  the  street,  windows  were  flung  up,  and 
hoarse  voices  mingled  with  the  upper  notes  of 
excited  women.  Then  some  one  ran  across  our 
yard,  stumbling  through  the  newly-fallen  snow 
that  edged  the  path,  and  beat  upon  the  door. 

"Open  this  door  I"  You  would  have  thought 
us  guilty  of  some  crime  for  having  it  shut. 

Dahlia  murmured  with  a  shiver,  "It's  Zenia." 

At  that  William  drew  it  open  and  Taggart's 
daughter  rushed  in,  her  face  like  the  snowdrift, 
but  her  eyes  like  the  blaze  on  the  hearth.  Her 
bosom  was  heaving  with  emotion  so  violent  that 
it  made  her  seem  larger,  somehow,  because  she 
was  small  of  bone,  and  gave  a  greater  force  to 
her  small  face  because  it  was  framed  in  the  gold 
of  her  picture-hair.  And  the  feeling  I'd  always 
held  that  she  was  like  a  doll  faded  forever  as 
she  cried  out — 


i4o        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

"Father's  dead — he's  been  murdered.  .  .  . 
You  can  go  home,  now,  mother — and  be  happy  I" 
She  looked  at  her  stepmother  as  if  minded  to 
strike  her  in  the  face,  and  Dahlia  fell  back  as  if 
she  had  been  struck. 

I've  often  sat  and  thought  of  suitable  words 
that  might  have  been  flung  back  at  the  grief- 
crazed  girl,  and  I  reckon  I've  gathered  as  many 
as  a  bushel.  But  at  the  time  of  need  all  grew 
too  high  for  my  reach,  so  I  could  only  look  at 
her,  stricken  dumb.  Then  out  of  the  door  she 
flung,  and  we  could  hear  her  rushing  through  the 
street — right  down  the  middle  of  the  road 
through  snow  and  all — screaming  that  her  father 
had  been  murdered. 

"For  God's  sake  don't  let  the  murderer  es- 
cape," we  heard  her  cry.  "Take  him  with  the 

blood  on  his  hands "  And  other  words  too 

dreadful  from  a  young  girl's  lips. 

But  I've  always  been  glad  I  heard  her  that 
night  calling  for  a  rope  around  Lane  Laclede's 
neck,  for  I'd  never  have  understood  her,  else. 
For  you  can't  know  people  if  seen  only  in  calm 
weather,  for  depth  of  character  must  be  meas- 
ured by  the  stress  of  one's  passionate  hour;  and 
in  that  hour  I  learned  that  Zenia  Gleason  crying 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         141 

for  revenge  was  stronger  than  Dahlia  fainting 
in  her  chair. 

Like  a  flash  William  had  sped  away  to  send 
me  help  and  here  came  Laidie  like  a  breeze  off 
a  rose-garden — and  maybe  I  didn't  breath  her 
deep !  For  a  minute  life  had  seemed  to  stop  dead 
still,  but  at  sight  of  her  eyes  it  went  right  on 
ticking.  She  took  Dahlia  in  her  capable  hands, 
being  free  to  minister  to  her  as  one  woman  with 
another,  I  having  been  baffled  by  the  mystery  of 
sex,  and  some  good  time  lost. 

After  I  had  lifted  her  to  bed  and  Laidie  had 
nodded  my  release,  away  I  darted,  meaning  to 
get  to  the  marrow  of  the  matter  and  suck  it  to 
the  dry  bone.  But  just  as  I  grabbed  the  top  of 
the  back  fence  to  vault  over,  I  was  brought  up 
stockstill  by  footsteps  running  toward  me  from 
the  alley  that  leads  across  from  the  shop.  Some- 
body stopped,  breathing  hard,  and  then  a  voice — 

"Is  that  you,  Stick?" 

Although  it  was  so  dark — nothing  but  snow- 
light — and  although  I  had  heard  that  voice  but 
a  few  times  and  had  thought  never  to  hear  it 
again,  I  didn't  have  to  ask  who  she  was.  It  was 
the  girl-out-of-the-common,  she  who  had  left  her 
name  at  home. 


XVII 

A  Man  Is  Like  to  Starve  When  Waiting  for  the 
Ravens  to  Feed  Him,  Unless  He  Has  Fat  of 
His  Own  to  Draw  On 

I  WAS  spellbound,  but  it  took  her  a  mighty 
short  time  to  lift  the  spell. 

"Stick,  if  they  find  Lane  Laclede  they'll  hang 

him  sure "  She  spoke  as  if  she'd  been  among 

our  people  all  her  life.  "He  must  be  kept  out 
of  sight,  for  Taggart  Gleason's  daughter  has  set 
the  whole  town  crazy.  The  truth  of  the  killing 
will  never  be  known — they'll  not  listen  to  one 
word  while  they're  in  their  red  mood — not  if  they 
come  across  him  to-night.  That  girl  just  runs 
from  street  to  street,  her  hair  streaming  and  her 
eyes " 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  Lane  Laclede  has 
run  away?  He'd  never  do  it!"  I  was  so  taken 
out  of  myself  by  her  words  that  I  made  nothing 

142 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         143 

of  my  surprise  at  finding  her  at  my  back  gate. 

She  spoke  so  fast  that  her  voice  reminded  me 
of  wind  running  over  dead  leaves.  "He  gave 
himself  up  to  the  sheriff  as  soon  as  it  happened, 
but  the  sheriff  doesn't  dare  take  him  to  the  jail 
— the  mob  would  break  it  open  and  murder  the 
prisoner.  You  must  help,  Stick,  and  there  isn't 
a  second  to  lose,  either." 

I  climbed  over  the  fence.  Leap  it  I  couldn't, 
for  I  hadn't  enough  spirit  in  my  legs  just  then 
to  have  jumped  me  over  a  blade  of  grass.  She 
drew  me  along  back  up  the  alley.  I  followed 
without  a  word,  for  when  I  have  no  plan  of  my 
own,  I  go  with  one  who  has  till  I  find  where  it 
leads.  We  could  hardly  see,  for  the  snow  was 
only  like  a  sort  of  pale  lining  to  the  velvet  dark- 
ness of  the  night,  but  she  knew  the  way  to  the 
rear  of  the  shop  as  well  as  I  did.  It  was  cold 
enough  to  stiffen  the  snow,  but  the  crunching  of 
our  feet  passed  unheard  because  of  the  wild  ex- 
citement on  Main  Street — so  presently  we  were 
safe  inside  the  back-end  of  the  blacksmith  shop 
without  the  neighbors  being  any  the  wiser. 

Here  in  the  inky  darkness  we  found  the  sheriff 
— Cadwitch  Beam  was  just  as  incompetent  as  by 
daylight,  not  having  been  lifted  to  a  man's  size 


144        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

by  the  night's  crisis,  but  crouching  against  the 
workbench  as  one  waiting  for  the  ravens  to  come 
to  feed  him,  though  himself  no  Elijah. 

In  a  breath  I  learned  the  state  of  affairs:  by 
the  sheriff's  advice,  Lane  Laclede  had  slipped 
out  of  town,  purposing  to  conceal  himself  in  my 
cottage  down  at  the  Mineral  Springs  (three  miles 
distant),  there  to  wait  for  the  officer.  It  was 
Cadwitch  Beam's  intention  to  carry  him  thence 
by  stealth  to  the  next  county  jail,  for  it  was  known 
that  Lane  had  given  himself  up,  and  it  was  just 
as  important  in  the  meantime  that  one  of  them 
should  be  kept  hidden  as  the  other;  for  if  the 
mob,  egged  on  by  Zenia  Gleason,  found  Cad,  they 
would  soon  pry  open  his  mouth. 

In  the  meantime,  William  had  gone  for  horses 
for  Cadwitch,  himself  and  myself,  we  latter  as 
sheriff's  deputies,  that  we  might  reach  the  cot- 
tage and  take  Laclede.  And  it  was  very  strange, 
waiting  there  in  the  stillness  of  the  shop  whose 
familiar  smells  all  seemed  unfamiliar,  trying  to 
think  of  a  way  out  of  the  day's  tangle — and  won- 
dering what  William  had  said  to  the  girl-out-of- 
the-common,  when  they  met. 


XVIII 

Rob  a  Man  of  His  Chance,  and  No  One  Can  Say 
What  He  Would  Have  Done 

IN  a  very  short  time  a  signal  at  the  big  door 
warned  us  to  open  it  without  noise.  William 
rode  in,  slipped  to  the  ground,  gave  the  bridle  to 
me  and  his  hand  to  the  girl-out-of-the-common. 
She  thought  it  wonderful  that  he  should  be  able 
to  pick  up  beast  and  saddle  and  ride  through  town 
unsuspected,  and  was  not  backward  with  her 
words,  praising  him  as  heartily  as  she  did  every- 
thing, and  making  as  much  of  him  as  of  me. 

Three  times  he  came  with  a  saddled  horse  and 
each  time  he  had  her  hand  to  clasp,  so  at  the 
third  horse  I  cried  enough. 

"One  more,  Stick,"  says  the  girl,  with  a  tease 
in  her  voice,  uthe  Unintended  is  going  along  with 
you."  And  she  explained  that  there  must  be  an 
extra  horse  for  Laclede  to  ride  when  Cad  and 

145 


i46        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

Bill  took  him  to  the  next  county.  "And  as  for 
you,"  said  she,  "you  and  I  will  ride  back  double, 
unless  you  make  me  walk." 

"You  see,  father,"  says  William,  eager,  "if 
we  led  along  the  horse  for  Lane,  its  saddle  empty, 
people  would  know  in  a  minute  what's  up;  but 
if  she  rides  it,  nobody'll  suspect  that  we're  going 
for  the  prisoner." 

"It's  not  to  be  thought  of,"  I  told  them.  "This 
is  men's  business  and  there  was  never  a  girl  yet 
— except  those  in  the  books  in  the  smokehouse — 
who  could  play  a  man's  part." 

"Father,"  says  William,  "it's  evident  we  can't 
lead  an  empty  saddle  out  of  this  shop,  so  the 
young  lady  will  have  to  go  with  us.  But  as  to 
her  coming  back,  if  you  think  you'd  be  too  heavy 
to  ride  with  her  double,  you  can  go  on  with 
Cad  and  Lane,  and  /'//  come  back  home  with  the 
young  lady,  riding  double." 

Of  course  I  told  him  there  should  be  no  such 
thing;  and  as  soon  as  he  had  gone  after  the  fourth 
horse  I  turned  upon  the  girl  in  no  peaceful  mood 
with,  "When  did  you  come  to  town,  and  why  are 
you  here?  Does  your  uncle  know  of  this?" 

She  didn't  want  to  tell  me,  so  said  that  if  we 
conversed  our  voices  might  be  overheard  by  the 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         147 

^archers.  She  was  right;  and  when  one  is  in 
the  right  and  at  the  same  time  is  having  one's 
own  way,  no  amount  of  arguing  is  going  to  put 
him  in  the  wrong. 

When  the  fourth  horse,  came,  we  mounted,  for 
though  it  would  have  been  safer  on  other  counts 
to  wait  under  cover  till  the  mob  had  scattered,  we 
knew  a  neigh  or  whinney  would  bring  people  to 
the  door.  William  rode  with  Cad  Beam  down 
the  alley  past  Horseshoe  House,  under  the  rail- 
road trestle  and  by  the  old  mill  to  the  outskirts 
of  town,  while  I  with  the  Unintended  cut  right 
across  Main  Street.  I  planted  myself  well-rooted 
in  the  public  eye,  calling  out  lustily  that  I  was 
looking  for  Lane  Laclede  and  was  determined  to 
get  him.  There  were  curious  glances  at  my  com- 
panion, but  she,  all  in  black  with  head  well  hid- 
den, was  supposed  to  be  Mrs.  Taggart  Gleason, 
since  everybody  knew  Dahlia  had  always  been 
one  of  my  pets.  Just  west  of  the  far  depot  the 
four  of  us  came  together  and  galloped  along  the 
Browntown  road,  that  if  we  be  observed,  our 
destination  might  not  be  guessed. 

I  had  nothing  to  say  to  the  girl  as  we  sent 
the  snow  flying  behind  us,  and  William,  heavy  at 
having  to  ride  beside  the  sheriff,  wouldn't  open 


148        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

his  mouth,  so  for  about  a  mile  we  were  speech- 
less. And  we  were  just  nearing  the  branch  road 
which  would  take  us  in  a  roundabout  way  to  the 
south  road  leading  to  the  Springs,  when  we  heard 
hoofbeats  other  than  oui  own,  and  found  our- 
selves being  hotly  pursued. 

I  fell  back  to  shout  to  Cad:  "It's  McFeeter's 
mare !"  Plunging  ahead,  we  looked  keenly  about 
for  cover,  knowing  we  couldn't  keep  ahead  of  that 
racer,  for  there  was  no  animal  in  the  county  the 
equal  of  McFeeter's  mare,  and  that  is  why  Mrs. 
McFeeter  made  him  sell  it.  Having  been  bought 
by  Richard  Purly,  it  was  but  fair  to  guess  that 
the  assistant  cashier  was  even  now  upon  its  back, 
as  violent  to  capture  Laclede  as  he  had  been  to 
buy  the  Rockpile. 

Pretty  soon  William  called:  "There's  more 
than  one!"  True;  behind  the  racer  came  a  sec- 
ond, and  behind  the  second,  others.  Afterwards 
we  learned  that  Zenia,  seeing  me  and  the  Unin- 
tended, had  suspected  the  truth,  and  had  sent 
the  fleetest  to  overhaul  us.  Whether  or  not  she 
thought  the  black  dressed  figure  on  horseback 
her  stepmother,  she  believed  the  enterprise  un- 
der way  meant  the  rescue  of  Laclede. 

On  either  side  of  the  road  rose  high  banks 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         149 

that  continued  so  far  we  dared  not  hold  to  the 
road,  so  we  took  the  steep  at  a  run  meaning  to 
hide  in  the  woods;  for  here  ran  an  arm  of  Mid- 
way Forest  in  which  Giles  Flitterfled  once  succeed- 
ed in  hiding  from  the  whole  county.  Cadwitch 
Beam,  finding  he  couldn't  make  his  horse  climb, 
slipped  off  and  scrambled  up  after  us,  leaving  his 
sorrel  snorting  in  the  snowdrift  to  call  attention  to 
our  whereabouts. 

"Well,"  said  I,  very  angry,  when  he  dashed 
among  the  trees  to  where  I  waited  with  the  Unin- 
tended safely  screened  from  view,  "well,  Man- 
Ostrich,  how  do  you  dol" 

William  gave  me  his  bridle  to  hold,  and  off  he 
jumped,  and  I  knew  that  once  he  had  Cad's  horse 
between  his  legs  the  old  sorrel  would  come  up 
that  wall  like  a  fly.  But  when  he  had  him  up 
so  much  good  time  had  been  lost  that  he  was 
espied  by  Richard  Purly,  dark  though  it  was, 
before  he  could  get  behind  the  snow-laden  trees. 
Purly,  on  his  racer,  took  the  bank  like  the  swift 
opening  of  scissor-blades,  crying  for  us  to  give 
up  Lane  Laclede. 

William  called  to  me  in  that  underground  tone 
that  always  gave  warning  something  was  about 
to  happen — "Sit  tight!"  And  we  retreated  far- 


150        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

ther  back  in  the  woods.  I  never  knew  what  he 
did  to  Richard  Purly;  I  never  felt  curious  enough 
to  ask  him,  and  Purly  never  volunteered  the  in- 
formation; whatever  it  was,  it  made  Purly  his 
enemy  for  life,  but  not  a  dangerous  enemy.  At 
any  rate,  William  kept  him  perfectly  silent  till 
his  companions,  thinking  he'd  raced  on  along  the 
west  road,  passed  us  on  their  course  to  Brown- 
town. 

After  that  we  didn't  draw  rein  till  we  reached 
the  bridge  over  Midway  Creek  on  the  south  road. 
Here  at  our  slowing  up,  William,  by  some  de- 
vice, brought  himself  alongside  the  Unintended 
and  in  spite  of  all  I  could  do,  kept  with  her, 
knee  to  knee,  the  rest  of  the  journey,  so  that  I 
must  needs  ride  ahead  with  Cad.  From  time  to 
time,  I  could  hear  their  voices,  not  swung  in 
minor  chords  to  harmonize  with  the  night's  trag- 
edy, but  ringing  clear  and  free  like  soaring  bird- 
notes.  Ah,  well,  it's  youth  for  wings  to  keep 
in  air  when  troubles  are  laying  snares  for  lagging 
feet — old  age  may  hop  with  a  brave  heart,  but 
must  hop  on  the  ground.  What  could  those  two 
have  found  to  talk  about?  Cad  and  I  were  like 
deaf-mutes. 

I   judged  that  by   the   time  we   reached   the 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         151 

Springs  cottage,  William  and  his  Unintended 
would  be  better  acquainted  than  if  they  had  be- 
longed a  week  to  the  same  singing  class  at  any 
one  of  our  seven  churches;  and  the  way  he  lifted 
her  from  her  horse  at  the  journey's  end  put  a 
seal  on  my  judgment.  It  confused  me  to  have 
their  friendship  developing  before  my  eyes  at  the 
very  time  I  should  have  been  free  to  give  all  my 
thoughts  to  Laclede's  plight;  for  having  tethered 
our  horses  and  crept  into  the  unfurnished  cottage 
with  only  the  snow-light  to  show  palely  at  star- 
ing windows,  I  felt  numbed  to  Laclede's  sorrow 
from  thinking  of  the  danger  to  Laidie's  peace  of 
mind. 

He  was  walking  up  and  down  the  bare  floor 
when  we  went  in,  and  he  never  stood  still  a  mo- 
ment after  that.  We  couldn't  see  each  other 
distinctly,  of  course,  and  yet  I  perceived  somehow 
that  Lane  Laclede  was  an  altered  man.  The  old- 
time  good-natured  and  easy  going  slackness  of 
our  handsome  young  citizen  was  gone,  and,  un- 
less I  was  very  much  mistaken,  would  never 
return. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  kill  him,"  he  jerked  out  the 
words.  "He  said  he'd  have  my  life.  ...  I  wish 
to  God  he  had." 


152        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

Cadwitch  broke  in:  "Don't  commit  yourself, 
Lane;  don't  make  a  statement." 

"I  just  happened  to  be  passing  his  house,"  Lane 
paid  him  no  attention;  "I  often  go  by  that  house 
—I  used  to  board  there,  you  know.  I  wasn't 
thinking  about  anything  especially — and  Dahlia 
came  running  out  of  the  door;  well,  yes,  I  had 
been  thinking  about  her,  a  little.  So  somehow 
I  didn't  seem  surprised.  But  in  a  second  I  saw 
that  she  was  scared  half  to  death,  and  there  was 
a  man  behind  her  with  a  hatchet  and  he  was  crazy- 
drunk.  It  was  Taggart.  'You  stand  there,'  I 
said  to  him — and  he  stood  there.  It  must  have 
been  something  in  the  way  I  spoke,  I  guess,  for 
I  remember  I  was  surprised  when  he  stopped.  I 
was  afraid  he'd  rush  past  me.  Dahlia  ran  on, 
never  looking  back.  Then  he  said  he'd  have  my 
life.  And  he  started  to  throw  the  hatchet  at 
my  head.  That  is,  I  thought  he  made  a  move- 
ment to  throw  it.  He  did  make  the  movement, 
but  it  might  have  been  just  to  bluff  me.  He  might 
never  have  thrown  It  at  me,  after  all.  Do  you 
think  he  would  have,  Stick?  You  knew  him  pretty 
well — do  you  think  he  would  have?" 

Cadwitch  cried  out,  "There  shouldn't  be  a  word 
of  all  this.  I'm  bound  to  report  all  that  I  hear." 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         153 

"I  don't  care  what  happens  to  me,"  Lane  went 
on  in  his  lifeless  tones.  "I'd  have  let  the  fellows 
take  me  and  do  what  they  pleased,  only — it  would 
break  Dahlia's  heart  for  me  to  die  that  way. 
She'd  want  me  to  have  fair  play.  I'm  not  car- 
ing. I  felt  sure  he  meant  to  split  my  head  open 
with  the  hatchet,  but  that  wasn't  what  made  me 
do  it.  Of  a  sudden  it  came  over  me  what  Dahlia 
had  endured  all  these  years,  only  to  be  driven 
out  of  her  house  at  last.  It  was  too  big  for  me. 
I  just  shot  him  down  where  he  stood.  I  aimed  at 
his  heart,  and  I  shot  him  through  the  heart." 

"Come!"  cried  the  sheriff,  rough  and  hard-set, 
"we  must  get  out  of  this  before  the  boys  follow 
our  tracks." 

Lane  grasped  my  arm  and  tried  to  make  out 
the  expression  on  my  face.  I  was  glad  it  was 
dark,  and  I  tried  as  hard  as  ever  I  tried  anything 
in  my  life  to  keep  from  the  least  shrinking  under 
his  touch.  He  said:  "I  told  myself,  Til  kill  the 
hell-hound!'  I  never  dreamed  I  could  feel  as 
I  did — such  raging  hate!  And  the  next  thing  I 
knew  he  was  dead  with  his  blood  all  over  the  snow 
— and  I  didn't  hate  him.  I  had  no  more  feeling 
for  him  than  for  one  of  the  bare  trees.  Except — 
to  wish  that  it  had  been  the  other  way — with  me 


154        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

on  the  ground  and  him  to  walk  away — and  hide. 
If  Taggart  was  alive  now — my  God!"  But  he 
didn't  cry  out  the  words,  just  spoke  them  one  like 
the  other,  slow  and  flat. 

The  Unintended  spoke,  very  quiet  and  sooth- 
ing: "Suppose  he  were  alive,  Lane,  and  you  saw 
him  strike  Dahlia?" 

There  was  a  wild  flare  in  his  voice:  "I'd  do 
it  again  I" 

When  Cadwitch  and  William  had  taken  him 
away,  I  was  for  dragging  in  a  wornout  stove 
from  the  rubbish  pile  of  the  last  tenant,  for  it 
had  grown  colder.  But  the  girl  wouldn't  hear 
to  it  and  presently  we  were  riding  double  back 
to  town.  We  didn't  talk  at  first,  for  her  man- 
ner of  parting  from  William  had  not  left  a  word 
on  my  tongue.  Her  first  speech  was  about  Lane 
Laclede — 

"It's  made  a  man  of  him!" 

I  said,  "Never  a  happy  man,  to  his  dying 
day." 

She  caught  me  up  with,  "What  of  that?  Life 
has  nobler  gifts  to  offer  than  happiness." 

After  awhile  I  asked,  "Did  Bill  tell  you  of  his 
engagement  to  Laidie?" 

"Yes,  he  told  me  everything."     Her  voice  was 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         155 

very  soft.  She  laughed  a  little,  breaking  off  with 
a  curious  sound  in  her  throat.  Then  she  drew 
her  horse  closer  so  she  could  pat  my  arm,  mur- 
muring, "Never  fear,  Stick — I'm  just  his  dear 
Unintended.  Bill's  a  real  man,  too;  he's  not 
wavering." 

After  crossing  the  red  bridge  we  took  a  seldom- 
used  road  back  to  town,  and  on  the  way 
she  explained  her  presence  in  Mizzouryville. 
Learning  from  the  county  paper — to  which  she 
was  now  a  subscriber — that  William  was  ex- 
pected home  from  city  training,  and  being  eager 
to  see  how  well  he  had  progressed,  she  had 
yielded  to  the  lust  of  adventure,  hoping  to  pass 
the  night  at  Dahlia  Gleason's.  Knowing  both 
Taggart  and  his  daughter  would  make  objections, 
she  hoped  to  gain  Dahlia's  private  ear  and  be 
stowed  away  until  early  morning  in  the  room  she 
had  once  occupied,  with  the  rest  of  the  family 
none  the  wiser.  Zenia  was  spending  Christmas 
day  with  Mrs.  Peggy  Overstreet,  serving  as  a 
sort  of  upper  servant  to  help  entertain  Mrs. 
Peggy's  house  party  of  high  champaign  people 
from  Kansas  City.  Taggart,  after  his  big  dinner 
at  Van  Buren  Hightower's,  had  ensconsed  him- 
self in  the  rear  of  Walrus's  drugstore — for,  since 


156        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

our  last  election,  Santa  Claus  was  afraid  to  bring 
whisky  down  a  front  chimney.  Mrs.  Gleason,  be- 
ing thus  to  herself  when  the  Unintended  called, 
agreed  to  the  plan  not  only  because  of  real  liking 
for  the  girl,  but  from  horror  at  the  thought  of 
her  being  without  shelter  through  the  winter 
night. 

All  might  have  gone  well  had  not  Mrs.  Peggy, 
tiring  of  Zenia,  sent  her  home  earlier  than  ex- 
pected; whereupon  Zenia,  in  spiteful  mood, 
stopped  at  the  drugstore  to  force  her  father  from 
his  flowing  cups.  On  reaching  home  in  confu- 
sion, the  guest's  presence  was  discovered,  and  the 
sight  of  her  caused  the  drunken  man  to  remem- 
ber the  true  words  she  had  once  cast  in  his  teeth. 
I  have  always  believed  Taggart  would  have 
killed  his  wife  had  not  Lane  Laclede  happened 
along. 

"And  what's  to  become  of  you?"  I  asked  my 
little  friend  as  we  entered  town.  I  believed 
Horseshoe  House  filled  with  women  gathered 
about  Dahlia;  but  had  it  been  empty  it  would 
have  been  still  less  suitable  for  sheltering  a  young 
girl.  I  felt  keenly  her  folly  in  venturing  out  of 
her  uncle's  ken,  but  said  no  more  on  that  head, 
deeming  it  sufficient  punishment  for  her  to  re- 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         157 

fleet  that  had  she  stayed  at  home,  the  killing  might 
never  have  taken  place. 

"I'm  going  away  on  the  midnight  freight,"  she 
presently  answered;  "for  I've  got  what  I  came 
for,"  she  added  soft  and  low. 

I  didn't  ask  what  William  had  given  her — I 
was  afraid.  So  without  words  we  rode  to  the 
far  depot,  and  walked  the  platform  when  the 
red-hot  stove  drove  us  out  of  doors,  and  listened 
to  the  singing  of  the  telegraph-wires,  and  watched 
where  the  roads  had  pushed  their  bare  black  arms 
through  the  snow. 

She  was  the  only  passenger  to  board  the  train. 
"Take  care  of  her,  Jim,"  I  said  to  the  brakeman, 
"she's  worth  lots  more  than  she  knows."  She 
knew  mighty  well  what  I  meant,  and  gave  me 
a  smile,  slow  and  wistful. 

The  last  I  saw,  she  was  standing  on  the  rear 
platform  of  the  caboose,  a  slight  black  muffled 
figure,  with  the  gleam  from  the  green  lantern 
palely  touching  her  cheek,  and  showing  the  wide 
sweep  of  her  arm  as  she  waved  good-by. 


XIX 

You  May  Live  and  Die  in  the  Best  Set  of  This 
World  with  No  Assurance  of  Getting/  into  the 
Upper  Circles  of  the  Next 

OF  my  parting  from  the  Unintended. I  made 
for  William  but  a  brief  tale,  after  which 
she  was  not  mentioned  between  us  till  he  went 
back  to  his  city  hothouse  to  be  forced  to  early 
flowering.  But  there  was  so  much  noise  over 
the  murder  that  one  scarcely  noticed  if  one  or 
more  keys  on  the  organ  went  mute.  Mizzoury- 
ville  had  not  known  a  tragedy  since  the  Civil 
War,  and  when  what  you  read  in  the  papers 
comes  to  your  very  door,  it  makes  you  a  for- 
eigner to  yourself.  That's  why  the  mob,  driven 
mad  by  Zenia's  thirst  for  vengeance,  sought  Lane 
Laclede  the  whole  night  through,  swearing  he 
must  be  hung  to  the  nearest  tree — yet  at  sunrise 
there  wasn't  a  man  in  town  who  would  have 

158 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         159 

harmed  a  hair  of  his  head.  The  very  men  who 
had  been  fierce  to  stretch  his  neck  now  wanted 
to  grip  his  hand. 

In  safe  time  he  came  back  and  stood  his  trial 
with  credit,  coming  out  a  bigger  man  than  when 
he  went  in.  We  had  all  liked  Lane,  but  as  he'd 
ever  taken  himself  at  very  modest  value,  and 
as  a  man  should  know  best  about  himself,  he  had 
been  set  down  as  worth  that  much  and  no  more. 
But  now  people  thought  a  great  deal  more  of  his 
life  because  he'd  killed  a  man  to  save  it. 

When  William  was  gone,  and  after  all  that 
could  be  said  about  Taggart's  death  and  Lane's 
trial  had  been  hashed  up  so  often  that  there  was 
no  taste  left  to  the  gravy,  I  began  to  be  terribly 
lonesome.  More  than  fifteen  months  I  had  lived 
alone,  and  though  friends  came  in  and  out,  some 
to  borrow,  never  returning,  and  others  dividing 
loafing-time  between  me  and  the  Bench — it  wasn't 
the  same  as  if  William  had  been  there.  Just  to 
have  had  the  bulk  of  him  at  his  anvil  would  have 
cheered  me  more  than  a  dozen  clacking  tongues 
at  the  door.  At  first  it  was  bitter  hard  to  ac- 
cept the  truth  that  this  was  never  again  to  be; 
but  if  I  must  wear  a  yoke  that  doesn't  fit,  I  try 
to  square  my  shoulders  to  it  as  best  I  can. 


160        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

Therefore,  seeing  how  it  was  like  to  be  with 
me  the  rest  of  my  days,  I  began  casting  my  eyes 
abroad.  First,  I  went  straight  to  Laidie's  grand- 
father's to  engage  three  meals  a  day  (but  only 
two  of  Sundays)  ;  they  needed  the  income,  and 
now  that  William  was  as  good  as  a  man  of  the 
house,  I  had,  of  course,  a  kinsman's  footing 
there.  Second,  to  town  I  went  and  bought  the 
highest  priced — and  I  presume  the  best — suit  of 
clothes  in  Mizzouryville,  tailor-made;  and  thus 
accoutered  I  stepped  into  the  barbershop  to  bid 
my  beard  farewell.  Third,  I  went  to  the  Lac- 
lede  Grocery. 

Where  the  Bench  had  stood  all  summer  was 
drifted  snow,  but  well  enough  I  knew  it  was  to 
be  found  behind  the  hot  stove  in  the  back-end, 
with  the  old  men  on  it,  their  overcoats  steam- 
ing. Sure  enough,  there  were  Van  Buren  High- 
tower,  who  didn't  speak,  as  I'd  seen  him  once 
before  that  day,  and  Captain  Little  Dave  Over- 
street  and  Jim  Bob  Peterson;  also  Curd  Tooter- 
flail  who  had  fallen  heir  to  poor  Taggart's  place. 
And  listening  to  their  tales  of  dead  old  settlers 
was  Lane  Laclede  with  his  wistful  smile  and 
that  sudden  occasional  jerk  of  the  arm  I'd  never 
noticed  till  just  lately. 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         161 

Knowing  that  what  I  dropped  there  would 
soon  sprout  up  through  every  way  and  byway 
of  the  village,  I  said,  succinct,  that  I  was  cast- 
ing my  eyes  abroad,  and  that  by  Christmas  fol- 
lowing I  expected  to  be  a  married  man.  Though 
I  spoke  in  jest,  they  were  not  so  blinded  by  my 
wit  as  to  lose  sight  of  my  meaning,  and  Jim  Bob, 
meaning  to  rise  to  the  subtlety  of  it,  leapt  up  as 
if  to  dance  nimbly  to  the  festive  idea.  He  would 
have  capered  like  a  boy  but  rheumatism  took 
him,  so  that  he  only  lifted  one  leg  and  was  glad 
enough  to  sit  down  again. 

Leaving  it  to  work,  I  went  home,  and  con- 
stantly wore  my  best  clothes  when  upon  the  street, 
and  was  at  every  church  dinner  and  bazaar. 
Presently  I  found  myself  invited  to  little  gather- 
ings and  became  once  more  a  man  of  note,  I 
having  been  accepted  during  the  solitary  months 
of  my  home  cooking  and  laundry  work,  as  a 
family  horse  turned  out  to  die.  It  had  ceased 
to  occur  to  my  best  friends — always  except  B. 
and  Laidie — to  invite  me  to  their  spreads,  I  be- 
ing set  down,  like  enough,  as  too  old  to  care 
for  fried  chicken  and  jollity;  but  now  I  was 
placed  on  the  lists  of  the  very  strangers  within 
our  gates. 


1 62        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

But  it's  one  thing  to  decide  to  marry  and  a 
different  one  to  find  the  woman.  There  were 
faces  that  pleased  and  voices  that  soothed,  but 
whenever  I  thought  of  accepting  any  particular 
hand  and  placing  my  broom  in  it,  so  well  bul- 
warked was  I  by  experience  with  William's  poor 
mother,  that  broom  swept  out  of  my  brain  all 
prospects  of  a  peaceful  future.  So  the  summer 
left  me  unsuited,  though  hard  sought  after,  as 
having  a  good  house,  a  good  business,  and  money 
in  the  bank. 

That  summer  was  memorable  for  my  sale  of 
the  Mineral  Springs  property  to  Big  Dave  Over- 
street.  It  had  always  been  a  burden  to  me,  the 
rent  never  paid  except  the  first  month's  advance, 
the  tenants  continually  breaking  up  my  fencing 
or  snatching  the  very  lathes  off  the  walls  in  des- 
peration of  winter  coldness  and  perennial  sloth. 
Now,  Big  Dave  was  buying  up  the  half-dozen 
huts  and  cottages  thereabouts  to  turn  a  penny  by 
the  rents,  believing  he  could  make  tenants  pay, 
knowing  himself  hard  and  capable,  and  knowing 
they  would  more  readily  yield  up  their  money  to 
a  man  already  rich.  I  felt  my  conscience  free  in 
thus  ridding  myself  of  the  incubus,  for  I  knew 
Big  Dave  Overstreet  would  never  part  with  the 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         163 

land  to  any  Improvement  Company — but  I  didn't 
look  far  enough  ahead. 

Mrs.  Patty  had  died  that  spring;  yes,  had  left 
the  best  set  in  Mizzouryville  for  a  less  fashionable 
circle  in  the  other  world.  She  was  not  old,  she 
had  no  chronic  complaint,  and  if  anything  but  silk 
got  next  to  her  skin  it  was  because  she  preferred 
satin.  I  grieved  for  her  sincerely  as  knowing  her 
to  be  so  well  suited  in  this  world,  and  hardly  to- 
have  given  thought  to  picking  out  her  place  over 
yonder.  And  Big  Dave  was  so  loud  of  grief, 
so  sure  his  heart  was  broken — well,  he  hypno- 
tized me.  But  when  I  heard,  the  week  after  I 
told  him  the  Springs  land — three  months  after 
his  wife's  death — that  he'd  married  Zenia  Glea- 
son,  I  foresaw  just  how  things  would  turn  out. 

Nothing  had  ever  gotten  the  better  of  Big 
Dave  until  that  year.  Farm  hands  who  idled 
on  other  farms  lost  ftesh  on  his.  If  the  corn- 
crop  was  poor,  he'd  staked  all  his  chances  on 
wheat,  and  when  the  cattle  market  was  high 
he  was  ready  to  sell.  He  could  squeeze  water 
out  of  the  bottom  of  a  dry  well.  Mrs.  Patty's 
death  was  his  first  big  jolt,  but  he  soon  found 
himself  in  the  running  with  a  wife  twice  as  young 
as  his  first,  the  prettiest  blond  in  the  county — 


1 64        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

took  her  right  away  from  his  nephew.  And  as 
between  the  green  lankness  of  poor  Lanky  and 
the  old  age  of  Big  Dave,  I  saw  where  Zenia  was 
wise. 

But  that  fall  Big  Dave  met  something  he 
couldn't  turn  out  of  doors,  something  he  couldn't 
cut  on  the  price.  And  shortly  after  the  funeral, 
which  came  three  days  after  his  fall  from  the 
McFeeter  mare,  it  grew  current  that  all  his  prop- 
erty was  in  his  wife's  name,  therefore  safe  from 
lawyer's  toll.  Then  came  the  dreadful  news  that 
the  young  widow  had  sold  the  Mineral  Springs 
and  adjoining  territory  to  Richard  Purly.  I  dare 
say  she  looked  upon  it  as  a  pious  act  to  finish  the 
work  her  father  had  begun ;  and  she  knew  it  would 
harass  her  stepmother;  and  I  don't  know  which 
makes  you  feel  the  more  religious — to  carry  out 
a  loved  one's  wishes  or  to  give  a  prod  to  some- 
body you  deem  at  fault. 

Days  followed  that  I  cannot  recall  without  dis- 
tress of  mind.  Well  do  I  know  that  our  Mineral 
Springs  boom  is  of  interest  too  local  to  make 
wide  appeal,  but  one  or  two  items  concerning 
it  must  be  set  forth,  else  I  might  as  well  empty 
out  my  ink  and  give  place  to  the  books  of  other 
men. 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         165 

A  boom  started — a  quick  growth  on  stony 
ground  with  no  chance  for  the  taproot  to  strike 
downward.  Transfer  of  land  always  creates  a 
stir  amongst  us,  being  unsettling  to  our  minds, 
and  now  followed  fast  the  report  that  the  Col- 
lege had  been  sold — to  whom,  no  one  could  find 
out,  for  the  owners  had  recorded  the  deed  as  the 
sole  property  of  Jim  Bob  Peterson,  having 
learned,  no  doubt,  his  fixed  principle,  I  mean 
that  of  not  talking.  Ostensibly,  the  College  now 
belonged  to  Jim  Bob,  though  every  one  knew  he 
had  nothing  but  his  rundown  farm  and  his  seat 
on  the  Bench.  Also,  talk  of  a  new  railroad  be- 
gan to  float  about  our  heads,  and  it  was  whis- 
pered that  the  College  would  be  the  depot.  Like 
a  snake  warmed  out  of  torpor  the  old  water- 
works proposition  came  to  life,  and  the  hue  and 
cry  about  building  a  new  high  school  was  re- 
born. And  those  who  had  replaced  their  wooden 
sidewalks  with  granitoid  agitated  the  idea  of  forc- 
ing the  more  conservative  to  follow  suit.  On 
Thanksgiving  Day,  Lancaster  Overstreet,  with 
a  new  sweetheart  by  his  side,  came  into  town  in 
his  shiny  new  automobile,  driving  it  himself.  It 
was  the  first  auto  ever  to  enter  our  town  except 
those  of  strangers,  and  it  made  a  noise  and  a 


1 66        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

smell  that  scared  every  horse  along  Main  Street 
so  that  it  was  at  least  an  hour  before  a  team  of 
mules  could  be  got  close  enough  to  haul  it  to 
Lanky's  woodhouse,  now  his  garage  (it  having 
gone  dead  before  the  courthouse  and  impeding 
traffic). 

In  consequence  of  this  turbulent  state  of  af- 
fairs, Mizzouryville  found  itself  divided  into  two 
parties,  one  opposed  to  enlargement,  the  other 
craving  an  influx  of  strangers.  Old-time  friends 
ceased  speaking,  though  as  to  that,  we  seldom 
speak  when  we  meet  unless  with  something  to 
say,  even  if  friendly — which  as  a  rule  we  are 
not  to  any  great  extent.  On  the  other  hand, 
people  with  the  same  idea  of  "civic  improve- 
ment" were  drawn  close  together,  even  if  a  church 
quarrel  had  kept  them  at  bitter  odds  for  years — 
the  fire  burning  as  hot  as  at  the  beginning  though 
like  enough  it  had  forgotten  the  kindling  that 
started  it. 

Of  course,  as  Christmas  grew  on,  I  had  an 
other  interest  besides  fighting  so-called  "improve, 
ment" — the  return  of  William.  His  letters  had 
grown  far  between,  but  were  still  affectionate  to 
me  and  polite  to  Laidie,  and  by  comparing  them 
we  kept  track  of  his  movements,  though  far  in 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         167 

his  rear.  From  the  amount  of  work  he  turned 
out,  we  grew  fearful  for  his  health. 

But  when  I  laid  eyes  on  him,  at  the  station,  I 
perceived  that  his  trouble  was  only  of  the  mind. 
There  was  a  six-inch  snow  on  the  ground,  and 
as  much,  of  course,  on  the  sidewalks,  there  be- 
ing an  ordinance  touching  its  removal,  but  always 
a  street  commissioner  with  a  strong  pull  on  the 
courthouse  gang  and  a  wide  slackness  in  his 
work  for  the  public. 

William  plowed  along  through  the  drifts  never 
choosing  the  best  way,  and  his  tone  of  voice 
showed  he  didn't  care  how  deep  he  got  in. 
"Father,  there's  a  matter  to  be  settled  before  I 
can  sleep." 

"In  good  time,  son "  For  his  voice  called 

for  a  bright  lamp  on  the  table  and  all  my  eyes 
on  guard.  I  didn't  know  what  was  amiss,  but 
something  darted  through  my  mind  giving  the 
same  thrilling  shock  I'd  experienced  on  hearing 
that  the  College  was  sold.  He  was  in  a  hurry 
to  "tell  his  story,"  as  say  the  books  in  the  smoke- 
house, but  I  wouldn't  hear  a  word  till  the  fire 
was  built  up  in  the  parlor  with  the  curtains  drawn, 
the  lamp  set  in  the  midst  of  my  Christmas  pres- 
ents, and  easy  chairs  pulled  close  together. 


1 68         HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

Then,  instead  of  making  a  beginning,  he  raised 
between  himself  and  his  trouble  a  pretended  in- 
terest in  my  presents — the  pretty  razor  made  to 
catch  the  eye  and  pull  the  hair — and  divers  orna- 
mental booklets  like  "The  Psalm  of  Life,"  set 
forth  in  wavery  letters  hard  to  read,  a  picture 
here  and  there,  and  no  new  matter. 

We  talked  for  a  time  about  these  gifts  in  the 
manner  of  men  holding  bad  news  out  the  door. 
The  year  previous  I  had  been  given  not  so  much, 
as  the  wrappings  of  my  little  finger,  for  a  con- 
tagion had  spread  of  giving  only  to  the  very 
poor.  Having,  therefore,  hunted  out  the  few 
shiftless,  good-for-nothing  families  which,  accord- 
ing to  prophecy,  we've  always  had  with  us,  upon 
their  dazed  and  tousled  heads  were  poured  the 
blessings  of  the  holiday  season — and  not  so  much 
as  a  "Merry  Christmas  I"  to  a  man  with  two 
coats.  But  now  since  I  had  begun  to  cast  my 
eyes  abroad  it  was  with  me  otherwise. 

William  paid  little  heed,  but  my  feeling  of 
coming  disappointment  faded  in  satisfaction  over 
his  face  and  form  and  city  bearing.  Already  he 
was  as  much  at  odds  with  the  young  blades  of 
Mizzouryville  as  would  have  been  the  Eads 
Bridge  swung  across  Midway  Creek.  I  named 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         169 

him  a  success.  Just  as  a  city  is  larger  than  a 
village,  so  •  a  city-man  should  be  larger  than  a 
countryman  if  he  make  any  display  on  the  horizon 
of  other  men's  minds.  And  William  was  already 
too  big  for  our  town  though  like-enough  not  yet 
big  enough  for  New  York. 

"Father! " 

Then  I  knew  it  was  coming. 

But  it  came  hard.  "Father,  I  must  tell  you 
something  before  I  sleep  .  .  .  it's  going  to  be 
difficult  for  you  to  grasp  it  ...  very  difficult." 

There  came  the  same  shock  that  had  thrilled 
me  on  our  way  from  the  depot  though  up  till 
then  if  I'd  had  nerves  I'd  never  known  it.  And 
in  a  flash  I  saw  that  the  one  thing  I  would  not 
let  myself  think,  the  only  thing  that  ought  not 
to  happen,  was  about  to  be  put  into  spoken  words. 


XX 


Bend  Your  Energies  to  Getting  All  You  Can 
Out  of  Life,  and  There'll  Be  Mighty  Small 
Leavings  for  Somebody  Else 

AS  I  sat  speechless,  William  tried  again,  des- 
perate: "It's  about  Laidie.  I "  He 

couldn't  say  it  with  my  eyes  on  his,  and  began 
to  walk  about  the  room. 

"William,  I'm  afraid  you've  always  stopped 
right  there." 

He  checked  himself  to  ask  my  meaning. 

"I  mean  with  your  '/.'  T  has  always  come 
first  in  your  affair,  hasn't  it,  William?" 

And  I  gave  him  his  choice  of  names,  grim 
enough. 

He  walked  back  and  forth.  "Perhaps  so." 
He  moved  about.  "And  shouldn't  it  come  first, 
when  it's  a  matter  of  life  and  death?"  A  minute 
later:  "It's  self-defense,  it's  a  law  of  nature." 

170 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         171 

"A  gentleman  defends  his  wife  first  of  all." 

"I  shall  never  have  a  wife." 

At  that  my  blood  burned,  and  I  was  upon  my 
feet.  "Then  you  are  no  gentleman,"  I  said. 

"Father!"  He  was  as  pale  as  a  living  man 
can  be. 

But  I  went  on:  "You'll  find  that  what  we  in 
the  country  call  dishonor  is  called  dishonor  in 
the  town."  I  didn't  raise  my  voice;  it  sunk 
lower  and  lower  till  it  sounded  like  that  of  a 
strange  man.  "When  one  breaks  his  word,  his 
character  is  forever  after  nothing  but  a  shat- 
tered pane  of  glass."  I  think  I  fell  back  in  my 
chair  then,  though  it  may  have  been  later.  Not 
a  muscle  of  his  face  moved.  I  think  he  kept 
walking  about.  We  were  silent  for  about  half 
an  hour,  it  seemed,  though  it  may  not  have  been 
five  minutes. 

The  flames  of  the  fireplace  were  so  cheerful 
on  this,  the  most  cheerful  season  of  the  year,  but 
their  glow  only  made  the  heart-shadows  darker. 

"I'll  never  be  able  to  look  Laidie  in  the  face," 
I  heard  myself  saying.  "Nor  anybody  else.  The 
men  in  the  shop.  The  boys  on  the  Bench." 

No  answer.     I  think  he  did  not  hear. 

After  a  time:     "Have  you  written  of  your 


172         HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

changed  mind  to  Laidie "     And  my  voice 

broke  at  all  that  the  dear  name  stood  for. 

He  answered,  low  and  constrained,  "I've 
waited  to  tell  her  face-to-face.  I  realize  that  I 
don't  love  Laidie  and  never  have;  and  never 


can." 


"What's  the  name  of  the  girl  that  taught  you 
this?" 

"I  told  her  good-by  at  the  Springs;  I've  never 
seen  her  since,  or  heard  of  her,  and  I  don't  know 
her  name,  or  how  to  go  to  her.  I  suppose  we'll 
never  meet  again.  But  I  learned  from  her  that 
love  doesn't  mean  Laidie." 

"You  care  nothing  about  breaking  her  heart?" 

"Hers  isn't  the  kind  that's  broken.  But  this 
is  what  I  mean  to  do,  father — explain  just  how 
I  feel,  then,  if  she's  willing,  go  ahead  with  it. 
That'll  break  my  heart  all  right,  but  nobody'll 
hear  me  murmur "  And  he  clenched  his  fists. 

Never  had  I  spoken  to  him  as  on  that  night, 
but  something  within  urged  me  to  strike  still 
harder  blows;  a  curious  feeling  I  had,  and  dread- 
ful, as  if  I'd  breathed  flames  to  the  bottom  of 
my  lungs.  I  know  I  was  standing  at  last,  for  I 
remember  we  looked  at  each  other  with  our  eyes 
on  a  level,  and  about  us  a  great  stillness.  It  was 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         173 

hard  for  me  to  realize  that  he  was  no  longer  a 
boy.  But  with  that  white  face  turned  upon  me, 
I  stumbled  to  the  truth  that  here  was  a  man 
who  must  choose  his  own  courses  and  sign  his 
own  checks  on  life's  bank,  to  draw  out,  from 
time  to  time,  only  such  as  he  had  put  into  it 
with  his  own  hands. 

Suddenly  I  saw  everything  different.  This  was 
no  longer  our  home,  but  mine;  and  his  marrying 
or  not  marrying  was  not  our  future  happiness  or 
sorrow,  but  his,  his  alone  for  all  time.  My  young 
bird,  wings  grown  strong,  would  not  take  so  much 
as  a  straw  from  the  parent-nest  to  use  in  making 
his  own. 

It  was  William  who  broke  the  deathlike  still- 
ness: "Father,  under  the  circumstances,  this  is 
the  only  honorable  thing  to  do:  tell  her  I  don't 
love  her  and  leave  it  in  her  hands.  Surely  you 
will  agree  to  this?" 

"Under  the  circumstances — yes."  I  had  to 
say  it. 

There  came  a  yearning  look  in  his  eyes. 
"Father,  I  think  any  son  of  yours  after  passing 
all  his  life  with  you,  must  be  a  gentleman." 

"At  any  rate,"  I  made  answer,  "you  have 
proved  yourself  one."  And  until  we  went  to  bed, 


i74        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

we  sat  before  the  hearth  in  deep  silence,  broken 
only  when  I  rose  to  put  wood  on  the  fire.  From  his 
set  face  I  knew  he  would  tell  Laidie  on  the  mor- 
row. Well,  there's  a  good  deal  in  knowing  a 
thing  simply  has  to  be — it  takes  the  springs  from 
under  the  bed  and  you  know  before  you  lie  down 
that  you're  going  to  lie  flat.  My  bitterness  was 
gone  though  not  my  sorrow;  yet  even  that  sor- 
row was  slowly  mellowed  like  a  black  cloud  when 
the  sun  begins  boring  its  way  through.  For  how- 
ever much  a  man  to  himself,  here  sat  my  boy; 
and  however  headstrong,  he'd  been  away  twelve 
months  and  would  soon  be  gone  again. 

The  clock  struck. 

"It's  nine,"  I  had  to  tell  him,  for,  fresh  from 
city  ways,  he  thought  like  enough  that  the  evening 
was  but  begun. 

He  gave  a  start  and  drew  a  long  breath,  then 
turned.  And  when  he  saw  my  face  a  mist  sprang 
to  his  eyes,  and  his  mouth  trembled  ever  so 
slightly. 

I  reached  him  my  hand;  all  I  said  was — "Bill!" 

And  then  he  told  me  that  he  loved  me  as  much 
as  ever  although  I  had  spoken  cruel  words.  And 
he  said  he  was  sorry  to  hurt  me,  but  felt  it  his 
duty.  And  he  promised  that  after  this  great 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         175 

trouble  was  settled,  life  should  be  as  peaceful  and 
happy  for  me  as  he  could  make  it. 

All  this  he  told  me,  though  not  one  word  did 
he  speak — just  said  it  by  the  grip  of  his  hand. 
Seemed  like  we  couldn't  bear  any  sort  of  con- 
versation then  except  mind-talk.  So,  still  hold- 
ing each  other's  hands,  we  rose.  I  walked  with 
him  to  his  old  room  to  make  sure  he  had  every- 
thing he  needed — as  if  I  hadn't  seen  to  all  a' 
dozen  times  that  day! — and  coming  softly  back, 
I  covered  over  the  fire. 

The  ashes  left  a  small  hole  at  the  top  so  all 
the  air  wouldn't  be  excluded,  and  when  I  had 
taken  the  lamp  to  my  room  and  slipped  back 
to  see  that  all  was  trim  for  morning,  a  tiny  gleam 
came  out  of  the  blackness  showing  the  shadowy 
forms  of  the  two  chairs  before  the  hearth  and  a 
bit  of  the  glass  cover  of  the  clock.  Even  so  was 
the  darkness  of  the  future  somewhat  relieved. 
Whatever  happened,  my  boy  still  loved  me.  I 
had  seen  it  by  something  not  often  seen  in  a 
man's  eyes;  I  had  felt  it  in  the  crushing  grip  of 
his  hand  when  I  called  him  "Bill." 


XXI 

Though  We  Sing  and  Dance  in  the  Light,  Then 
Pass  Away,  Other  Voices  Will  Catch  Our 
Songs,  and  Our  Children  Will  Love  the  Sun- 
shine on  the  Grass 

DURING  William's  stay  I  had  arranged  to 
have  our  meals  at  home;  but  it  was  little 
we  sat  down  to,  the  next  morning,  for  I  could 
not  think  of  cooking  as  I  went  heavily  about  the 
early  tasks.  All  the  joy  was  taken  out  of  the 
glad  day;  in  a  sort  of  dumb  misery  William  fol- 
lowed me  here  and  there  to  get  what  warmth  of 
cheer  there  might  be  from  the  closeness  of  my 
presence. 

The  snow  was  so  deep  that  paths  were  to  be 
dug  from  door  to  gate  and  crosswise  to  the  hen- 
house where  all  the  chickens  were  huddled  with 
necks  drawn  down  amongst  the  feathers.  The 
coalhouse,  too,  must  needs  be  opened  up.  But 

176 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         177 

as  William  and  I  worked  at  the  snow  shovels 
there  was  no  shouting  back  and  forth,  and  such 
neighbors  as  passed  with  merry  calls  got  small 
comfort  from  either  of  us. 

At  last  I  called  on  him  to  desist,  knowing  that 
the  more  heated  and  full  of  life  he  became  the 
harder  would  presently  be  his  fall;  for  if  a  great 
sorrow  be  ahead,  the  friend  who  meanwhile  makes 
you  smile  does  you  no  good  turn — for  it's  not 
grief  but  the  shock  that  breaks  a  man. 

When  we  set  forth  for  the  Christmas  dinner 
at  Laidie's,  I  thought  we'd  have  borne  ourselves 
much  the  same  if  going  to  her  funeral.  At  the  cot- 
tage, Van  Buren  met  us  with  idle  talk  about  our 
coming  at  a  "fashionable  hour,"  meaning  we  were 
late — thus  trying  to  be  suave  and  light  of  tongue 
despite  a  shirt-bosom  to  prove  he'd  dressed  be- 
fore Laidie  was  up.  She  met  William  with  a 
pretty  blush  and  hesitation,  he  showing  just  as 
much  hesitation,  but  holding  his  head  stiff  and 
uncomfortable. 

His  part  was  hard  to  play  because  she  noticed 
nothing  amiss.  Laidie  was  too  practical  to  be 
watching  how  heads  were  held  when  there  was  a 
big  dinner  to  serve  and  a  cook  unwilling  to  bear 
a  hand.  I  don't  think  she  took  a  good  look  at 


178        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

him  till  we  were  seated  at  table,  then  laughed 
about  his  having  studied  too  hard. 

"It's  not  that,"  says  William,  reminding  me 
of  himself  at  seven  years  of  age  when  if  out  of 
sorts  he  wanted  me  always  to  know  the  real 
reason  so  he  could  have  what  he  wanted. 

I  said,  in  rebuke,  "He  needs  Taggart  Gleason 
to  come  back  from  the  other  world  to  cheer  him 
up."  There  were  other  times  for  his  heart- 
secrets,  but  no  other  hour  for  that  steaming  tur- 
key and  bronzed  potato-volcano  and  old  country 
ham  and  slaw  with  its  slices  of  boiled  egg  cooked 
to  dry  mealiness,  not  of  that  damp  gluey  yellow 
found  in  all  slaw  that  ever  I  saw  unless  made 
by  Laidie.  Working  our  way  through  dinner,  I 
talked  a  good  deal,  describing  the  hubbub  over 
so-called  "town  improvement" ;  and  Van  Buren, 
who  had  heard  of  a  new  sale  of  land  told  it  again 
and  again,  the  louder  because  I  hadn't  heard  the 
news,  so  that  William's  silence  was  not  remarked. 

He  brought  himself  sharply  to  the  fore  by  sud- 
denly lifting  his  head  to  ask: 

"Didn't  Lane  Laclede  get  married?"  And  as 
Lane  Laclede  had  nothing  to  do  with  our  con- 
versation we  knew  his  mind  had  been  afield  ever 
since  I'd  mentioned  Taggart  Gleason's  name. 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         179 

"Son,"  I  reproved  him,  "such  a  question  can 
mean  only  one  thing,  and  I  take  it  ill-advised 
of  you  to  drag  Bank  Corner  gossip  to  the 
table." 

"I  only  asked,"  cried  William,  ready  to  fight 
about  the  first  thing  at  hand,  "if  Lane  Laclede 
is  married.  Of  course  if  it's  a  secret,  I've  no 
more  to  say." 

"I've  known  Dahlia  from  a  child  at  knee," 
I  told  him  with  warmth.  "The  sweetest  little 
girl,  and  the  best  woman,  that  ever  I  knew,  for 
I  never  knew  any  other  human  so  set  upon  and 
uncomplaining.  Before  Taggart  was  shot,  she 
was  too  true  a  woman  to  let  herself  care  for  any 
other  man,  and  since  his  death  she's  been  too  true 
a  woman  to  let  herself  fall  in  love  with  the  man 
who  killed  her  husband." 

William  looked  at  me  with  baffled  eyes  as  if 
he  hardly  knew  what  I  was  talking  about,  and 
said,  desperate,  "All  I  asked  was,  Is  Lane  Lac- 
lede married?" 

"William,"  piped  up  B.  Hightower,  "no,  Wil- 
liam, no,  he  is  not." 

This  was  all  William  contributed  to  our  party 
till  we  had  retired  to  the  parlor.  There,  without 
waiting  for  us  to  take  chairs,  he  asked  Laidie  to 


i8o        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

give  him  a  few  minutes  in  another  room  as  he  had 
something  very  important  to  tell  her. 

B.,  with  the  cocksureness  of  old  age  regarding 
sentimental  people,  took  for  granted  a  little  court- 
ing was  to  be  had,  and  from  Laidie's  face,  she 
thought  the  same.  "Wait  until  we  have  a  little 
singing,"  says  B.  "As  to  another  room,  the  cook 
is  eating  in  the  dining-room  and  she  allows  no 
one  in  the  kitchen — where  could  you  sit?  No, 
sir,  we'll  first  have  some  singing;  then  I'll  walk 
over  to  Horseshoe  House  with  Stick,  and  leave 
you  young  people  together." 

"Correct,"  said  I,  looking  reprovingly  at  Wil- 
liam, whose  ideas  had  become  so  enlarged  from 
city  life  that  he  seemed  to  think  the  cottage  might 
brood  under  its  wings  a  hundred  apartments. 

Laidie  sat  down  to  the  organ.  From  Wil- 
liam's gray,  set  face  I  knew  he'd  go  through  with 
it  or  strangle  on  a  high  note,  so  I  settled  back  in 
comfort  and  nodded  approval  of  Van  Buren's 
call  for  "Annie  Laurie." 

Poor  William!  How  often  he'd  sung  that 
song,  supplying  to  Laidie's  sweet  voice  a  round 
ringing  bass,  just  as,  in  times  past,  I'd  built  the 
groundwork  for  Gussie  Meade's  slender  soprano, 
and  just  as  B. — if  we  could  credit  his  memory — 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         181 

had,  in  his  day,  boomed  out  in  the  same  duet 
with  his  sweetheart.  High  in  air  soared  Laidie's 
voice,  while  William  with  his  made  a  ladder  to 
prop  against  her  high  position — "Gave  me  her 
promise  true  .  .  ." 

Gussie  Meade  had  given  me  her  promise  with 
kisses  and  with  tears,  for  the  keeping  of  which 
it  had  seemed  not  too  much  to  lie  down  and  die. 
But  she'd  married  a  man  who  was  not  a  black- 
smith and  for  a  time  it  had  seemed  that  life 
couldn't  go  on,  yet  things  had  turned  out  some- 
how, and  so  it  would  be  with  William.  And  I 
began  to  take  comfort.  After  all,  a  successful 
life  depends  no  more  upon  mutual  love  than  on 
a  similar  taste  in  vegetables  and  meats;  and  Wil- 
liam, while  losing  the  finest  girl  in  the  country, 
might  find  another  who  would  suit  him  better. 
But  how  he  could  hope  it  was  beyond  me,  as  I 
admired  her  blooming  cheeks  and  listened  to  her 
tones,  they  being  as  smooth  as  satin,  never  hav- 
ing been  trained  to  shake  notes  like  clothes  on  the 
lines  in  a  high  wind.  Also,  as  I  sat  there,  a 
sadness  came  over  me,  as  comes  sometimes  when 
you  gaze  upon  a  very  lovely  girl,  and  this  thought 
was  blown  out  of  my  thought-tree:  that  after 
all  of  us  had  been  laid  in  our  graves  that  song 


1 82        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

would  lift  itself  up  as  free  and  sweet  and  young 
as  if  it  had  not  come  down  out  of  the  past  with 
the  hearts  of  dead  men  for  stepping-stones. 

They  were  on  the  last  verse  and  I  had  al- 
ready made  up  my  mind  that  at  the  last  meas- 
ure I'd  carry  off  the  old  gentleman,  thus  snipping 
short  my  reflections  which,  however  long-drawn 
out,  could  avail  nothing.  And  suddenly  the  door 
opened  and  through  that  door — it  leading  di- 
rectly in  from  the  porch — two  people  stepped 
pointblank  into  our  lives. 

We  looked  up,  startled,  thinking  there  must 
be  a  mistake.  For  even  if,  as  at  hazard  I  set 
them  down,  they  were  the  new  owners  and  ten- 
ants of  the  College,  therefore  a  part  of  the  gen- 
eral conspiracy  to  turn  the  town  upside  down, 
surely  they  would  not  go  about  from  house  to 
house,  besieging  the  old  settlers  without  knocking 
for  admittance. 

Straight  toward  us  they  came,  closing  the  door 
behind  them,  and  I  rose — as  B.  tried  to  do — not 
wishing  to  be  drowned  in  the  overflow.  Laidie 
turned  round  on  the  stool,  as  William  looked 
very  close,  thinking  to  place  the  intruders  among 
his  city  friends,  for  they  had  not  our  air. 

The  strange  woman  cried  out,  delighted,  "Ade- 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         185 

laide!"  And  she  threw  her  arms  about  the 
amazed  girl  and  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks. 
"Adelaide,  how  stout  you  have  grown!" 

Right  then  I  knew  who  she  was,  for  only  one 
person  in  the  world  had  ever  called  her  "Ade- 
laide," though  that  was  Laidie's  name  in  the 
Bible,  but  such  a  name  as  could  never  hold  to- 
gether in  Mizzouryville  but  must  needs  break 
apart  from  very  weight. 

The  newcomer  swiftly  wheeled  about,  light  of 
foot  and  wonderfully  tight-laced,  and  dainty-hued 
as  to  underskirts  and  the  like,  and  she  made  a 
dive  at  Van  Buren. 

"Don't  you  do  that!"  cries  B.,  feeble  and  eva- 
sive. 

"I  will,  too,  you  old  goose!"  And  she  em- 
braced him,  though  somewhat  gingerly.  "Don't 
you  know  your  own  daughter  ?  And  mercy,  what 
a  horrible  shirt  you  are  wearing,  this  Christmas 
day!" 

"It's  Sylvia!"  he  gasped.  "Stick,  it  is  Sylvia 
— come  again !" 

She  floated  from  him  like  a  zephir  and  seized 
my  hand — "Welcome,  welcome,  friend  Stick! 
Can  that  wonderfully  handsome  young  man  with 
your  hair  and  eyes  be " 


1 84        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

"Yes,  'em,M  says  William,  all  his  St.  Louis 
knocked  out  of  him. 

"Now,  one  and  all,"  cries  the  lady,  very  gay, 
"let  me  present  Mr.  Selwyn." 

"Your  husband?"  I  queried,  after  a  deep 
breath. 

"Yes,"  she  smiled  at  me  one  of  those  angelic 
smiles  on  a  tapestry,  "in  a  sense." 

It  occurred  to  me  that  if  Laidie's  grandfather 
— and  Sylvia's  father — was  ever  going  to  have 
that  second  stroke,  now  was  his  time;  but  he 
just  sat  there,  wide-eyed  and  dumb-driven. 

Mr.  Selwyn,  a  splendid  looking  man,  dark  and 
tall  and  serious,  shook  hands  all  around  while 
none  of  us  even  pretended  to  rise  to  the  situa- 
tion. Our  hands  were  given  limp  and  cold  and 
as  such  he  took  them  each  in  turn,  with  the  same 
genial  smile,  his  words  soothing,  as  cautious  lest 
he  scare  us  to  cover;  and  wild  of  mien  I  make  no 
doubt  we  were. 


//  You  Don't  Believe  in  a  Fourth  Dimension, 
Try  to  Measure  Womankind  by  Length, 
Breadth  and  Thickness 

I  HAVE  before  said  nothing  about  Laidie's 
mother,  nor  should  I  ever  have  referred  to 
her  had  she  stayed  away,  for  when  a  woman  runs 
off  from  her  husband,  leaving  him  to  die  of  a 
broken  heart,  and  her  infant  to  be  tended  by 
those  who  will,  it  is  not  for  me  to  bring  her 
back  by  so  much  as  a  twist  of  memory.  For 
Sylvia  to  come  back  after  nineteen  years,  bear- 
ing herself  as  gay  as  a  May  morning,  was  more 
than  I  could  swallow  without  showing  that  it 
tasted  bad.  Therefore,  announcing  that  I  had 
been  on  the  eve  of  taking  my  departure,  I  took 
it,  close  followed  by  William,  with  Van  Buren 
sending  wistful  glances  after  us  as  wishing  him- 
self of  our  party. 

185 


1 86        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

On  the  way  home  there  was  no  talk  of  a  fate- 
ful interview  to  be  held  by  William  and  Laidie 
in  any  sequestered  room.  Rather,  he  plied  me 
with  questions,  for  until  now  Laidie's  mother 
had  been  a  subject  forbidden  in  my  house.  I 
would  rather  not  have  talked  of  her  even  now, 
but  as  she  had  thrust  herself  upon  our  page  of 
life  in  large  letters,  it  behooved  me  to  serve  as 
a  fine-print  note,  serving  out  names  and  dates. 
And  I  took  up  as  little  space  as  might  be,  but 
every  word  was  pregnant. 

To  go  back:  Van  Buren  Hightower,  as  every- 
body knew,  had  been  carried  off  by  an  actress 
and  married  against  his  wishes  and  his  plighted 
troth,  he  then  being  in  his  suppleness,  and,  to 
judge  by  the  daguerreotype  in  the  bureau  drawer, 
a  fine  looker,  in  those  days,  and  a  fastidious 
dresser.  This  actress  had  lived  long  enough  to 
tire  of  the  fruits  of  her  victory  and  was  looking 
about,  in  my  opinion,  for  other  fruitbearing  trees 
(having,  in  a  word,  spent  about  all  B.  possessed), 
when  a  low-neck  dress  and  slippers  in  a  draught 
brought  on  pneumonia  which  carried  her  off.  One 
child  was  left,  Sylvia,  the  only  person  of  the 
name,  either  male  or  female,  ever  seen  in  our 
county,  to  the  knowledge  of  Old  Settlers'  Bench. 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         187 

Sylvia,  growing  up,  was  as  unlike  our  village 
girls  as  a  redbird  hopping  in  a  poultry-yard.  She 
could  sing,  not  so  well  as  she  believed,  but  better 
than  her  schoolmates;  and  knowing  that  her 
mother  had  been  an  actress  (though  not  of  the 
high  class  that  get  into  the  magazines  with  their 
teeth)  she  took  life  at  a  gallop,  and  while  very 
young  vaulted  the  fence  of  matrimony  with  no 
clear  notion  of  what  was  to  be  found  on  the  other 
side.  She  lived  with  her  husband,  my  intimate 
chum,  just  long  enough  to  name  the  bady  "Ade- 
laide"— and  was  off. 

William  asked,  sharp  and  cold,  "With  another 
man?" 

"To  say  'Yes,'  son,  might  give  a  wrong  im- 
pression." 

"Then  I  hope  to  the  Lord  you  can  say  'No'!" 

I  told  him  it  was  neither  yea  nor  nay  with  such 
complicated  characters  as  Sylvia.  She  was  no 
more  to  be  explained  than  the  purple  bloc  n  of 
a  morning-glory  after  you've  planted  nothing  but 
pink.  Everything  about  her  husband  had 
strained  at  her  nerves.  David  was  quick  to  judge 
cattle  and  slow  to  estimate  men.  He  was  fond 
of  a  joke  if  it  wasn't  too  new,  and  he  stood  ready 
to  argue  any  opinion  you  might  advance,  and 


188        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

he  didn't  want  to  hear  any  news  from  you  unless 
he'd  heard  it  first  and  knew  more  about  it  than 
you  did.  He  liked  to  live  plain  and  save  his 
money  and  stand  on  Bank  Corner  of  Saturday 
afternoons  in  a  blue  shirt  and  yellow  suspenders, 
talking  about  the  mistakes  of  the  President. 

"She  just  went  off,  son.  There  never  was  any 
divorce.  A  young  man  from  the  city  used  to 
come  down  here  to  train  her  voice  and  later  she 
began  taking  trips  after  musical  culture,  now  to 
Kansas  City,  and  even  as  far  east  as  Chicago. 
But  I  never  thought  that  young  man  meant  any- 
thing to  her.  That  is,  no  more  than  his  just 
being  a  man.  She  was  always  partial  to  that 
order.  Sometimes  it  has  come  to  me  that  Sylvia 
is  a  character  strayed  out  of  the  books  in  the 
smokehouse." 

"And  in  the  smokehouse  she  should  have 
stayed!"  William  declared.  "However,  as  her 
husband  is  dead,  of  course  she's  free  to  marry 
whom  she  pleases.  But  what  could  she  have 
meant  by  saying  that  old  Pomposity  is  her  hus- 
band 'in  a  sense'?" 

"No  telling,"  and  I  shook  n:y  head.  "But  be- 
lieve me  Sylvia  never,  even  from  a  child,  dropped 
words  that  didn't  have  seeds  in  'em." 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         189 

On  reaching  home,  we  built  up  the  fire  and 
what  from  mental  activity,  and  from  much  pacing 
up  and  down  the  room,  we  found  that  our  Christ- 
mas dinner  would  not  serve  till  morning,  so 
cried  out  that  we  must  either  assemble  something 
cold,  or  devise  some  hot  dishes.  Twilight  had 
caught  us,  and  I  was  for  lighting  the  lamp, 
but 

"No,"  says  William,  "let's  sit  by  the  fire  until 
six  o'clock  and  then  I'll  cook  supper  like  old 
times — for  to  tell  the  truth,  I  hardly  tasted  a 
bite  of  what  I  put  in  my  mouth  at  Laidie's,  and 
I'm  as  hungry  as  a  bear."  And  he  laughed  out, 
boyish  and  hearty,  at  the  mere  thought  of  what 
was  before  us.  Yes,  and  I  laughed,  too. 

And  just  then,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
there  came  a  click  of  the  front  gate  latch. 

"It's  Sylvia,"  I  cried,  hasty.  "There  was  just 
one  click  when  the  latch  pushed  open.  Sylvia 
never  did  shut  a  gate  in  her  life.  Quick — light 
the  lamp!" 

"Surely,"  says  William,  spell-bound,  "she 
wouldn't  come  here!" 

"Light  that  lamp,  son — Sylvia  is  no  woman  to 
be  meeting  in  the  dark." 

He  seemed  desperate  as  not  knowing  which 


i9o        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

way  to  flee.  "Father,  she  wouldn't  come  here, 
not  on  top  of  that  jolt  she's  just  given  us." 

"While  you're  arguing  about  it,"  I  said  low 
and  penetrating,  "I'll  go  let  her  in  the  door." 

That  put  his  match  to  the  wick.  For  at  times 
there's  a  power  in  my  voice  that  lifts  a  man's  arm 
to  the  set  task. 


XXIII 

We  Judge  a  Man  by  His  Kin,  but  Ask  the  World 
to  Judge  Our  Kin  by  Ourselves 

THERE  was  more  bulk  than  I  expected  at 
the  swinging  open  of  the  door,  for  it  was 
not  Sylvia,  but  Sylvia's  daughter.  I  fell  back  as 
if  pushed  against  the  wall  as  she  came  in  with 
slow,  uncertain  step — her  features  were  drawn 
as  if  to  hold  back  the  cry  from  a  cruel  hurt;  I'd 
never  have  supposed  cheeks  so  round  and  rosy 
could  look  so  pinched. 

Seeing  William  with  the  lamp  chimney  still  in 
his  hand  beside  the  newly  lighted  wick,  she  went 
straight  toward  him,  her  eyes  never  changing  in 
their  steady  blackness. 

"William,"  she  said,  slow  and  distinct,  "I've 
come  to  ask  my  promise  back." 

Leaning  against  the  wall,  I  looked  from  one 
to  the  other,  feeling  that  it  was  not  for  me  to 
take  any  part. 

191 


1 92        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

"What  do  you  mean,  Laidie?"  His  hand 
trembled  so  as  he  turned  the  wick  that  he  put  out 
the  light. 

She  answered  out  of  the  darkness:  "I  mean 
that  our  engagement  must  be  broken  off."  While 
he  was  religming  the  lamp,  I  could  hear  her 
breath  coming  heavy,  and  when  the  chimney  was 
in  its  place,  she  said,  quick:  "Everything  is 
changed." 

He  turned  from  the  table  to  look  at  her  very 
straight,  and  he  asked  with  a  little  emphasis  on 
each  word:  "Laidie,  have  you  changed  with 
everything?" 

^*Oh" — her  voice  quivered,  and  she  flung  out 
her  hand— "don't  you  see? — I'm  a  part  of  every- 
thing." 

He  drew  a  chair  close,  and  spoke  in  a  tone 
that  I  recognized  as  my  very  own  in  speaking  to 
little  children,  "You  are  tired.  Sit  down  and  tell 
us  about  it." 

She  leaned  on  the  back  of  the  chair.  "No,  I 
must  hurry  home.  I  just  wanted  you  to  know 
that  we  can  never  marry.  Of  course  I  shall  never 
marry  anybody.  You  know,  I  have  thought  all 
this  time  that  mother  was  dead.  Grandfather 
let  me  believe  that.  And  nobody  in  Mizzoury- 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         193 

ville  knew  anything  different.  And — and — and 
— so — well,  that's  why  I  want  my  promise 
back." 

"Laidie,"  he  said,  with  a  gentleness  in  his 
voice  you  would  never  dream  could  fyave  mellowed 
it.  I  just  stood  there  with  my  eyes  down,  a  great 
ache  in  my  heart. 

Presently  he  added:  "Time  doesn't  change  the 
truth,  we  know;  but  it  softens  it." 

"This  truth" — she  bowed  her  face  in  her 
hands  with  her  elbows  on  the  back  of  the  chair — 
"it's  the  kind  that  nothing  can  soften  but  death. 
Oh,  I  should  have  been  told,  it  was  a  mistake  tljfrt 
I  was  not  told!  Grandfather  did  wrong — Stick, 
you  did  wrong  not  to  tell  me."  She  'cried  out, 
dry-eyed  and  passionate,  "Will  it  seem  any  dif- 
ferent to  you  or  to  me  fifty  years  from  to-day 
that  my  mother  is  not  married  to  the  man  she 
lives  with?" 

The  room  was  so  still  I  could  hear  my  heart 
beating.  I  could  not  feel  sore  at  her  blaming  me 
though  it  was  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  she 
had  ever  turned  upon  me  so.  I  wouldn't  have 
blamed  her  then  for  anything  she  could  have  done 
or  said.  I  waited — waited  for  something  to  hap- 
pen, almost  sure  it  would;  but  the  small  part  of 


194        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

my  mind  that  wasn't  sure  made  a  terrible  coward 
of  me  just  then. 

At  last  Laidie  raised  her  head,  and  the  wonder 
I  had  felt  when  she  came  through  the  door 
returned  to  me  at  sight  of  her  dark,  drawn  face. 
"I  will  go,  now,"  she  said,  very  calm  and  quiet, 
and  with  that  turned  away.  "Good-night — good- 
night, Stick." 

But  William  laid  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"Laidie,  do  you  love  me  as  much  as  ever?" 

"But  it  isn't  a  question  of  that,"  she  faltered. 

He  went  on,  grave  and  kind:  "When  I  come 
home  in  June,  we'll  marry;  and  if  it's  possible, 
I'll  make  your  life  happy." 

She  cried  out,  her  composure  all  gone,  that  it 
could  never  be. 

"Answer  me  this,"  he  said,  taking  both  her 
hands  and  watching  her  face:  "Do  you  love 
me?" 

"You  know,"  she  answered,  protesting,  "that 
ever  since  I  can  remember " 

"That's  enough.  And  now  tell  me  before  I  go 
back  to  St.  Louis — for  I'm  going  sooner  than  I 
expected — in  the  morning,  I  think — tell  me  that 
our  engagement  stands.  Tell  me  you  will  be  my 
wife." 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        195 

She  searched  his  eyes  to  find  if  he  really  wanted 
it,  and  the  drawn  tension  of  her  face  relaxed. 
The  crimson  dyed  her  cheeks — as  long  as  I've 
known  her,  I've  never  again  seen  the  look  she 
wore  when  first  she  came  through  the  door  out 
of  the  night. 

She  drew  away  from  him  and  came  to  me. 
"But,  oh,  Stick,  ought  I  to  let  him  sacrifice  him- 
self? Tell  me,  tell  me,  am  I  doing  right?"  And 
then  the  tears  came.  Shaken  by  sobs  she  clung  to 
me,  repeating,  "Ought  I?  Is  it  right?" 

When  she  was  calmer,  she  murmured,  still 
clinging  to  my  neck:  "Do  you  remember  that 
strange  girl  you  wanted  me  to  meet  at  your  party? 
I  wouldn't  come  because  we  knew  nothing  of  her 
mother — but  suppose  she  had  known  about  mine  I 
She  would  have  been  the  one  to  refuse.  It  seems 
a  punishment  sent  upon  me — But  what  am  I  to 
do  ?  Stick,  you  used  to  know  how  to  comfort  me 
in  my  troubles — oh,  what  am  I  to  do?" 

She  held  up  her  dear  face,  and  her  sweet  lips 
formed  themselves  for  a  kiss.  I  bowed  my  head 
to  rest  my  cheek  against  hers.  But  I  did  not  kiss 
her. 

Soon  after  that,  she  went  away  and  there  was 
a  lightness  in  her  step  she  had  not  brought  into 


196        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

the  house.  And  there  was  a  whispering  in  the 
leaves  of  my  thought-tree  to  this  purpose:  that 
her  heart  was  brightened  not  by  William's  love 
in  itself,  but  because  he  had  stood  the  shock  of 
her  disgrace. 

When  she  was  gone,  William  looked  at  me 
with  deep  seriousness  as  if  facing  a  tragedy;  and 
I  make  no  doubt  that  at  his  age  it  always  seems 
a  tragedy  to  contemplate  marriage  without  love. 
But  he  faced  it  like  a  man,  saying,  with  a  grim 
line  of  humor  drawing  down  the  corner  of  his 
mouth  to  make  a  twisted  smile,  "Father,  I'm  not 
a-wavering!" 

I  think  I  was  as  proud  of  him  that  night  as 
ever  was  father  proud  of  son,  and  I  wanted  him 
to  know  it,  and,  although  contrary  to  my  habit 
and  my  philosophy,  I  resolved  for  once  to  give 
him  unstinted  praise.  So  I  grasped  his  hand,  and 
I  said,  "Son,  you'll  do  1" 


XXIV 

Sometimes  You  Mistake  Something  Else  for 
Your  Soul,  Which  Is  One  Danger  About  Being 
a  Soul  Mate 

AS  soon  as  William  was  back  in  St.  Louis,  I 
set  about  finding  out  exactly  what  Sylvia 
had  meant  by  having  a  husband  "in  a  sense."  I 
needed  no  wise  man  to  tell  me  that  she  could 
explain  it  better  than  any  other,  but  when  one  has 
set  himself  forth  as  a  marrying  man,  he  cannot 
be  too  particular;  and  knowing  that  all  Mizzoury- 
ville  was  looking  askance  at  the  newcomer,  I 
deemed  it  best  to  be  seen  with  her  only  when  safe- 
guarded by  the  presence  of  others.  Selecting, 
therefore,  a  time  when  not  only  Laidie,  but  Van 
Buren  would  be  housed  in  the  same  room,  I 
sought  her  accordingly. 

Though  she'd  been  at  the  cottage  but  twenty- 
four  hours,  Sylvia  had  turned  everything  upside 

197 


198        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

down  as  she  always  contrived  to  do  with  people's 
lives.  The  lumber  had  been  carried  from  the 
lumber-room  to  the  woodhouse,  and  the  lumber- 
room  was  now  a  "library,"  though  without  books. 
The  front  room  was  so  changed  that  where  had 
been  my  favorite  nook  was  a  four-legged  con- 
veyance loaded  with  heaps  of  sofa-pillows,  re- 
minding me  of  a  spring  wagon  coming  from  the 
mill.  I  found  a  seat  near  the  door,  and  not  at 
first  perceiving  that  it  was  the  same  chair  I  had 
once  ridden  down  from  stress  of  my  weight  on 
its  puny  legs,  I  sat  thereon,  my  hat  between  my 
knees. 

Poor  Laidie,  her  face  bent  low  over  her  sew- 
ing, scarcely  raised  her  eyes  from  her  needle. 
Her  grandfather,  cleaned  and  starched  till  all 
the  original  Van  Buren  seemed  washed  away,  sat 
bolt  upright  with  his  eyes  glued  to  the  paper  de- 
signs, as  if  he  could  see  his  second  stroke  in  a 
handwriting  on  the  wall. 

Sylvia  was  here,  there,  everywhere,  and  as  I 
followed  her  floating  movements  I  marveled  at 
her  youthfulness,  grace  and  fluffiness.  She  was 
almost  as  old  as  myself,  but  she  made  a  great  gap 
between  our  ages,  treating  me  as  if  she  had  to 
feed  me  on  ground-up  corn.  And  though  my 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        199 

purpose  held,  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  case, 
I  was  that  timid  and  abashed  before  her  long- 
practised  arts,  that,  like  Jim  Bob,  I  had  not  a 
frisk  left  to  my  legs.  Her  man  was  nowhere 
about  which,  at  any  rate,  was  a  comfort. 

"How  fine  of  you  to  visit  us,  Stick — I  hope  it 
didn't  tire  you  to  climb  the  hill,"  said  she,  as  if 
I  were  a  hundred.  And  she  perched  upon  the 
organ-stool  as  if  she  were  nine  or  ten,  swinging 
her  little  feet  clear  of  the  floor,  and  clearer  of 
her  skirts,  so  that  there  was  much  you  must  needs 
see,  and  seeing  could  not  but  admire.  "You  used 
to  visit  us  just  so  when  I  was  a  young  thing — 
ages  ago."  She  turned  her  head  to  cry  out  in 
warning,  "Pa!"  The  old  gentleman  had  essayed 
to  beguile  his  tedium  with  a  toothpick,  but  he 
thrust  it  back  into  his  pocket,  hasty.  Sylvia  gazed 
pensively  out  the  window.  She  knew  she  had  my 
full  attention,  therefore  need  not  exert  herself  to 
hold  it,  for  I  suppose  there  was  not  in  Mizzoury- 
ville  County  to  be  found  a  pair  of  stockings  of 
such  bewitching  and  lively  hues. 

"And  as  in  those  good  old  days,"  said  I,  giving 
a  start  as  she  jumped  to  the  floor  to  dart  toward 
a  picture  that  had  sagged  out  of  plumb,  "my  time 
for  visiting  is  brief.  I  wouldn't  inquire  into  your 


200        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

private  affairs,  Sylvia,  were  it  not  that  my  son 
and  your  daughter  are  to  be  married  next  June, 
therefore  I  consider  my  interest  warranted,  and 
you,  like-enough,  amenable,  and  all  as  between 
friends  of  past  days — therefore,"  said  I,  growing 
vaguer  the  nearer  I  came  to  the  point. 

She  climbed  on  a  chair  to  straighten  the  pic- 
ture, looking  at  me  over  her  shoulder.  "Ask 
whatever  you  please,"  she  called  gaily.  "What 
you  can't  read  in  the  papers,  I'll  tell  you." 

"Then  you've  been  in  the  papers,  Sylvia?" 

"Yes,  but  under  my  stage-name.  Why,  it's  me 
that  keeps  the  papers  from  going  broke!" 

I  was  depressed,  knowing  that  this  was  no  such 
matter  as  "Stick  Attum  Sundayed  in  Hannibal," 
or  "Captain  Little  Dave  Overstreet  had  his  weeds 
cut  the  first  of  the  week."  I  asked,  dubious, 
"With  pictures?" 

"A  trunk  full;  I'll  show  youl"  And  she  was 
for  darting  away. 

"I  can't  wait,  Sylvia.  Now,  as  to  this  Mr. 
Selwyn " 

"Yes,  it's  natural  that  you  should  want  to  know 
about  him.  Well,  in  what  capacity?" 

I  looked  down,  perplexed,  but  there  was  no 
inspiration  in  my  hat. 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         201 

She  came  back  to  the  organ-stool.  "As  a  busi- 
ness-man, Stick?" 

"No,"  said  I,  groping,  "as  a  lady's  man." 

At  that,  she  began  to  sing  a  little  song,  stand- 
ing before  me  and  lifting  her  skirts  first  to  one 
side  then  to  the  other  with  dancing  steps  at  the 
end  of  each  verse,  which  in  each  case  was  foreign. 

"So,"  said  I,  dry,  "you  are  not  married, 
Sylvia?" 

She  showed  her  teeth  at  me,  and  they  were 
well  worth  showing,  had  this  been  but  a  matter 
of  teeth.  And  she  cried  out  in  pleased  surprise, 
"Why,  Stick!  So  you  understood  my  little  song. 
I  didn't  know  you  had  learned  French." 

"I'm  no  great  scholar,"  said  I,  "but  when  a 
lady  is  asked  about  her  husband,  she  doesn't  an- 
swer with  a  song.  In  my  experience,  married 
people  dabble  but  little  in  music,  closing  the  piano 
with  the  days  of  their  maidenhood.  If  you  will 
kindly  make  the  affair  a  little  more  succinct,  I'd 
be  obliged." 

"Of  course  I'm  delighted  to  explain.  In  my 
opinion,  Stick,  matrimony  which  means  legal  re- 
straints, and  chains  for  the  soul,  chafes  one's 
higher  nature.  I  married  when  I  was  too  young 
to  understand  this.  Knowledge  came  to  me." 


202        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

"Yes  'em,"  said  I,  indecisive. 

She  sat  down  on  the  stool,  crossed  her  knees 
with  locked  hands  about  them,  and  began  to 
chant  her  sentences  in  a  curious  sing-song  voice 
that  was  agreeable  enough,  only  it  seemed  to  me 
she  should  have  been  in  the  city  hall  at  a  public 
gathering:  "I  came  into  the  light.  Then  I  knew. 
Then  I  sensed  the  truth.  And  what  I  knew,  I 
knew  for  all  time.  For  truth  is  eternal." 

"That's  so,"  I  said.  "And  some  lies  have  gray 
hairs,  too." 

She  went  on  chanting,  looking  mighty  uplifted 
and  of  a  drawing-power  hard  to  overestimate. 
"So  I  knew  that  in  marriage-bonds  .  .  .  the  soul 
cannot  expand  .  .  .  cannot  be  free.  Far  better 
to  meet  and  love  and  part — than  to  be  tied  hand- 
and-foot  ...  to  an  uncongenial  partner." 

"Soul  mates?"  I  asked. 

"My  soul  is  mated  ...  his  soul  is  mated  by 
mine  .  .  .  But  I  would  not  have  thought — you'd 
know  what  I  meant  .  .  .  What  do  you  know  of 
soul  mates?" 

"There  are  some  of  'em  in  the  smokehouse," 
said  I,  dreadfully  depressed.  "Do  your  souls  aim 
to  mate  together  for  some  time?" 

At  that  she  came  out  of  her  trance.     "Why, 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         203 

my  dear  Stick!  what  are  you  talking  about?  Of 
course  Mr.  Selwyn  and  I  shall  live  together  as 
long  as  we  live.  That  is,  if  we  remain  congenial ; 
which  we  expect  to  do.  We're  just  as  tightly 
bound  as  if  by  legal  ties.  I'm  sorry  Adelaide  feels 
so  distressed  about  us,  for  we  are  to  all  intents 
and  practical  purposes  man  and  wife.  We  are 
just  like  any  other  comfortable  couple  in  the 
village." 

I  laid  upon  her  an  appraising  eye.  "Sylvia, 
how  long  has  this  present  mating  lasted?" 

"It  is  three  years  next  spring  since  we  pledged 
our  souls." 

Hearing  my  chair  squeak  and  feeling  it  quiver 
all  over,  I  rose,  hasty,  to  carry  away  what  I  had 
gathered.  "Sylvia,"  I  put  on  my  hat,  "I  hope 
you  won't  find  life  here  unpleasant,  but  Mizzoury- 
ville  is  terribly  conservative.  An  attempt  to  force 
granitoid  walks  on  the  citizens  has  led  to  great 
bitterness,  and  I'm  afraid  the  innovation  you  de- 
scribe will  rouse  considerably  stronger  opposition 
than  the  new  walks." 

She  laughed.  "Dear  old  Stick,  I  know  exactly 
what  you  mean,  though  you  are  trying  to  relieve 
my  feelings  with  your  little  jest.  Don't  worry. 
All  Mizzouryville  will  be  trailing  after  me  and 


204        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

my  Mr.  Selwyn.  First  the  town  will  shy  from 
our  bait,  then  it'll  creep  closer  to  nibble,  then — 
we'll  cage  it  I" 

Then  she  began  singing  a  song  in  a  tongue  not 
native,  but,  if  my  suspicions  are  correct,  French 
like  the  other.  And  still  singing,  she  closed  the 
door  behind  me,  and  went  back  to  her  task  of 
making  over  her  family. 


XXV 

Public  Opinion  May  Be  Won  if  You  Go  Courting 
It  with  a  Full  Purse 

HAVING  heard  what  our  soul  mate  had  to 
say  for  herself,  my  next  care  was  to  hear 
what  the  town  had  to  say;  and  there  being  no 
better  quarter  for  the  retailing  of  wholesale  opin- 
ion than  Old  Settlers'  Bench  I  went  to  hear  it,  back 
in  the  rear  of  the  Laclede  Grocery  whither  cold 
weather  had  driven  my  men.  I  joined  the  bunch 
about  the  roaring  fire  and  they,  knowing  my  time 
always  brief  for  whittling,  tossed  the  news  back 
and  forth  without  fumbling  for  the  ball. 

Ordinarily  they  would  have  opened  up  with 
good-natured  jibes  about  my  wife-seeking,  such  as 
a  man,  though  he  say,  "Tut!  tut!"  is  well  enough 
pleased  to  hear.  However,  on  the  present  occa- 
sion I  escaped  because  Van  Buren  was  kept  close 
at  home  these  days  by  Sylvia,  and  naturally  we 

205 


206        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

took  advantage  of  the  absence  of  any  one  to  dis- 
cuss his  affairs  to  a  frazzle. 

"Not  even  a  justice  of  the  peace  did  they  have," 
says  Captain  Little  Dave,  stamping  his  wooden 
leg.  "I'm  old.  And  I'm  so  accustomed  to  the 
human  frame  from  living  in  one  over  ninety-two 
years  that  I'd  just  as  lieve  discuss  bowels  as  eye- 
brows and  feel  just  as  elevated,  which  will  show 
you  that  I'm  beyond  false  modesty.  Sometimes  I 
sit  and  wonder  if  there's  any  subject  that  could 
make  me  feel  like  blushing,  and  I  bring  up  one 
after  the  other  and  study  'em.  But  I  stay  cold. 
All  appertaining  to  flesh  cuts  no  figure,  for 
everything  is  so  soon  to  crumble  to  dust.  But 
what  I've  heard  about  B.'s  daughter  is  beyond 
me.  Gentlemen,  I'm  ashamed — gentlemen,  I'm 
ashamed  1" 

"This  is  how  I  place  it,"  says  Jim  Bob,  speak- 
ing as  if  fighting  mad.  "If  it  had  been  me,  taking 
up  with  a  pardner  without  a  minister  or  nothing, 
you  wouldn't  of  let  me  come  back  here  to  squat. 
Town  wouldn't  of  held  me  till  morning.  That's 
because  I'm  dog-poor  and  never  had  no  luck  and 
less  energy." 

"Cork  your  bottle  1"  Captain  Little  Dave  repri- 
manded him.  "You  don't  know  that  we'll  let  this 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         207 

Selwyn  stay  here — he  and  B.'s  daughter — I'm 
ashamed!" 

"No,  I  won't  cork  up,"  cries  Jim  Bob,  lifted  to 
a  spirit  beyond  himself  by  the  injustice  of  the 
thing.  "You  just  let  me — Jim  Bob  Peterson — 
bring  an  affinity  to  Mizzouryville  and  put  up  at 
a  hotel  in  fine  linen.  You'd  set  the  dogs  on  me." 
And  he  bristled  with  fight.  "I'd  like  to  try  it 
once  to  show  you  fellows  that  you'll  let  the  Four 
Hundred  do  what  you  wouldn't  take  from  me. 
It's  because  Sylvia  was  a  Hightower,  and  them 
and  the  Overstreets  always  did  think  God  made 
'em  out  of  irrigated  soil.  If  I  was  to  slip  out 
and  bring  back  a  strange  woman  to  wave  in  your 
faces  and  tell  you  it  was  all  right,  she  was  a  New 
Woman,  I'd  be  rode  on  a  rail.  It's  because  I 
ain't  got  no  fine  clothes  nor  gold  rings,  but  am 
just  an  average  American.  That's  what  I  call 
myself — an  average  American,  too  languid  for 
actual  work — languid  was  my  birthmark  ...  Is 
this  what  you  call  equality  before  the  law  that  we 
bled  and  died  for  back  yonder  in  '76?" 

"Go  get  your  woman,"  Curd  Tootcrflail  cried, 
stung  to  desperation,  and  standing  his  red  hair 
up  all  over  his  head;  "I  dare  you  to!" 

"Gentlemen,"  said  one  of  us,  I'll  not  say  which, 


208        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

one,  "sometimes  the  wind  blows  wisdom  into  the 
mouth  of  a  fool,  and  for  once  Jim  Bob  has  said 
something.  Society  will  go  to  pieces  if  we  don't 
keep  the  marriage-bonds  tight-knotted.  The  way 
Sylvia  and  Selwyn  are  living  together  is  an  insult 
to  every  right-minded  man  and  woman  in  this 
community." 

All  of  us  looked  serious,  for  such  plain  words 
would  never  have  been  given  out,  if  the  public 
pulse  hadn't  been  found  to  beat  to  their  tune;  if 
Mizzouryville  resolved  to  rid  itself  of  the  Sel- 
wyns,  the  thing  was  as  good  as  done,  and  the 
thought  of  Laidie  turned  me  cold.  Just  then  in 
came  Sheriff  Cadwitch  Beam,  not  as  officer  but 
as  gossiping  man,  though  in  either  character,  of 
no  great  weight. 

"Boys,  have  you  heard  the  news?"  he  asked, 
ravenous  to  tell  it. 

"Don't  tell  any  more,"  I  told  him;  "we're  full." 

"Go  ahead,  Cad,"  Jim  Bob  pleaded,  "go  ahead 
and  slop  us  over." 

"Men,"  he  said,  his  voice  reminding  me  of 
what  I  have  read  about  compressed  gas  and  ves- 
sels bursting,  "the  mystery's  explained.  It  has 
come  out."  Then  he  went  on  hoisting  his  voice 
at  each  phrase  till  at  the  end  it  went  up  like  a 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        209 

sky-rocket  in  a  shrill  whistling  gasp.  "I  can  tell 
you  who  bought  up  Taggart  Gleason's  Rockpile, 
and  Stick  Attum's  Springs  cottage,  and  all  the  land 
thereabouts  once  owned  by  Big  Dave,  and  the  old 
College,  and  the  whole  creation — and  who's  going 
to  build  a  big  tourist's  hotel,  and  run  a  railroad 
right  through  our  gardens  and  front  yards  con- 
necting us  to  civilization — and  property  going  upr 
and  thousands  of  newcomers  pouring  in,  and 
everybody  getting  rich,  with  factories  and  down- 
trodden factory-girls  and  child  labor  and  sa- 
loons  " 

Then  he  gulped  for  breath,  and  I  said: 

"Blow  off,  Cad,  and  buck  up!" 

He  struggled  for  breath  and  filled  himself  and 
went  on:  "That  Richard  Purly  over  at  the  bank 
was  never  anything  but  a  lay  figure,  just  like  Jim 
Bob  here,  with  the  College  deed  in  his  name,  and 
him  never  telling  us  a  word.  But  the  mystery's 
explained.  The  thing's  out.  Octavius  Selwyn  is 
the  trust,  combination,  corporation,  capitalist,  pro- 
moter. .  .  .  And  Octavius  Selwyn  has  organized 
a  company  and  named  it,  "Bigger  Mizzouryville 
Company";  Richard  Purly  is  the  secretary  and 
treasurer — of  course  Octavius  Selwyn  is  the  presi- 
dent. They're  going  to  open  up  a  fine  office  over 


210        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

the  Tidlin  butchershop — the  fixtures  are  already 
ordered  from  the  city.  A  meeting  is  to  be  held 
at  the  courthouse  to-night  for  the  selling  of  shares 
and  the  blocking  off  of  town  lots  around  the  Min- 
eral Springs." 

Then  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  handbill 
sticky  black  from  the  press,  whence  he  had  gleaned 
all  his  particulars,  and  which  he  hadn't  dared 
show  us  first,  else  his  tale  would  have  lost  its 
telling.  Lane  Laclede,  who  had  turned  pale  at 
the  mention  of  Taggart  Gleason,  stood  as  he  had 
stood  since  then,  clutching  his  right  hand  with  his 
left  to  steady  it,  and  from  where  he  stood  he 
read  the  lines  aloud  as  Cadwitch  held  up  the 
smeared  paper. 

I  turned  on  my  heel  and  left  the  store,  bitter 
enough.  As  plainly  as  if  the  future  were  a  book 
of  my  own  writing,  I  foresaw  that  Selwyn  would 
foment  discord  in  our  midst  as  long  as  the  busi- 
ness men  thought  there  was  profit  in  his  scheme. 
Contrary  to  our  religion  he  might  be,  but  we  put 
money  interests  first,  that  seeming  to  have  more 
to  do  with  regulating  the  world  than  the  rules  and 
precepts  of  a  better  land.  When  we  climb  our 
spiritual  heights  on  a  Sunday  holiday,  we  love  to 
hear  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount;  but  after  trudg- 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        211 

ing  down  to  the  levels  of  our  daily  lives,  we  want 
tools  fitted  to  our  hands  for  human  use. 

I  was  thinking  these  thoughts  on  my  homeward 
way  when  Lane  Laclede  came  hurrying  after  me. 
"Stick!"  he  called,  breathless,  "I  want  your  ad- 
vice. We — both  of  us  want  it."  Then  he  broke 
off  with  a  wild  look,  wringing  his  hand  and  hold- 
ing it  as  if  it  would  never  keep  still  unless  held. 
He  caught  his  breath,  and  looked  queer,  and  mut- 
tered, "But  I  can't  stay  away  from  the  store. 
Are  you  going  to  be  busy  Friday  night?" 

His  eyes  made  me  feel  all  tingly,  and  I  knew 
if  ever  there  was  a  man  in  mortal  anguish,  he 
stood  before  me  then.  His  fingers  began  crunch- 
ing together  so  hard  and  fast  that  I  was  glad  I 
could  put  him  off.  I  told  him  I  was  going  to  leave 
town  Thursday  night  to  be  gone  a  week,  the  shop 
left  in  capable  hands,  and  Horseshoe  House 
closed. 

"Then  I'll  come  Friday  night  week,"  he  said, 
"somewhere  around  eight  o'clock.  Will  you  be 
at  home  waiting  for  me — promise  you'll  be  all 
alone,  for  I  ...  because  we  think — or  at  least — 

at  least "  And  he  looked  at  me  as  ashen  pale 

and  as  full  of  seeming  terror,  as  if  he  found  me 
some  frightful  ghost. 


212        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

I  told  him  I'd  be  at  home  on  the  evening  named, 
that  I  would  be  waiting  for  him,  and  that  I  would 
be  alone.  And  as  soon  as  I'd  given  my  word,  he 
turned  back  up  the  hill  staring  straight  before  him 
like  a  man  in  an  evil  dream. 


XXVI 

It  Doesn't  Take  a  Wise  One  to  Call  a  Man  a 
Fool  After  He's  Caught  in  His  Folly 

THURSDAY,  the  Bigger  Mizzouryville 
Company  was  installed  over  Tidlin's 
butcher-shop  ("Meat  Market"  on  the  sign)  with 
handsome  furniture  and  appetizing  circulars  and 
a  black  man  in  livery  heretofore  known  amongst 
us  as  "Tuck."  Shares  in  the  New  Railroad  were 
offered,  a  dollar  a  share,  in  blocks  of  fifty,  half 
to  be  paid  down  when  the  road  was  surveyed,  the 
second  half  when  the  cars  were  in  operation.  It's 
easy  to  say  now  that  men  were  fools  to  grab  at 
such  an  offer,  but  they  generally  are  when  taken 
in  the  lust  of  sudden  gain.  The  sight  of  survey- 
ing parties  with  chains  and  wagons  and  dogs  start- 
ing first  one  way,  then  another,  set  some  of  the 
Improvers  nearly  crazy.  Lots  around  the  Min- 
eral Springs  were  auctioned  off  like  hot  cakes,  no 

213 


2i4        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

man  knowing  whether  he  was  drawing  a  slat  out 
of  the  old  creek  bed,  or  a  wedge  of  Missouri  sky 
propped  on  a  Gleason  Rockpile. 

I  did  what  I  could  to  pull  down  the  hopes  my 
neighbors  were  rearing  on  shifting  sands,  getting 
frowns  for  my  pains,  so  that  at  last  my  mere  ap- 
proach was  enough  to  stampede  the  light-feeding 
cattle,  they  growing  leaner  the  more  they  browsed 
on  Octavius  Selwyn. 

Of  course  I  ate  at  restaurants,  these  days,  for 
set  foot  in  Van  Buren's  cottage  I  would  not  till 
a  few  lines  covering  his  daughter's  relations  to 
Selwyn  were  on  court  record;  and  this  enforced 
absence  from  Laidie  drove  my  longing  for  Wil- 
liam's company  to  the  bone. 

Friday  morning  came.  I  was  giving  last  in- 
structions to  ray  hired  man  and  was  about  to  leave 
the  shop  for  the  station,  when  at  the  open  door 
Laidie  stopped  to  smile  at  me.  I  felt  like  I  hadn't 
seen  her  for  six  months,  and  that  I  might  never 
see  her  again — the  most  satisfactory  feeling  I'd 
ever  experienced,  to  be  so  short-lived;  and  in  a 
breath  I  said — knowing  no  more  what  I  was  going 
to  say  than  you  do — I  said  how  like  home  she 
looked  with  the  market-basket  on  her  arm,  and 
how  blue  and  sodden  I'd  grown  from  great  loneli- 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         215 

ness,  and  that  I  had  thrown  up  my  hands  to  fate 
and  was  leaving  town  to  get  me  a  companion. 

"I've  been  casting  my  eyes  abroad,"  I  told  her, 
"for  now  going  on  two  years,  but  there's  not  a 
woman  in  Mizzouryville  I'd  give  for  a  curl  of 
your  little  finger.  So  I'm  off  to  Higginsville  where 
my  old  sweetheart  lives,  now  ten  years  a  widow, 
and  no  Mrs.  Patty  to  step  between.  There  she  is 
with  ten  thousand  dollars  and  three  children  and 
not  a  man  in  the  house,  and  at  the  end  of  the 
week  I  can  tell  you  more." 

I'll  never  forget  how  Laidie  put  both  hands  on 
my  arm,  the  empty  basket  slipping  back  to  the 
crook  of  her  elbow,  and  looked  right  up  into  my 
face  with  her  big  earnest  eyes. 

"I  want  you  to  be  happy,"  she  said,  "and  I 
want  you  to  have  whatever  will  make  you  happy." 
Then  she  kissed  my  hand  and  said,  "That's  for 
luck." 

I  wouldn't  have  cared  how  long  she  stood  there, 
for  her  hand  always  was  able  to  soothe  the  hurt 
in  my  heart.  But  the  first  thing  I  knew,  she  was 
going  up  the  brown  and  green  road  with  its 
splashes  of  yellow  light,  the  sun  at  her  back  turn- 
ing the  lacings  of  her  basket  to  links  of  gold,  and 
pouring  such  wonders  of  pearly  light  on  the  side 


216        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

of  her  face,  that  her  hair  was  left  in  midnight.  I 
stood  there  and  watched  until  the  last  flutter  of 
her  skirts  had  passed  on  to  gladden  somebody 
else's  world.  I  nearly  missed  my  train,  that  time. 


XXVII 

No  One  Who  Lives  to  Please  Others  Is  Ever 
Pleased  with  Himself 

NOT  making  myself  known  in  Higginsville,  I 
strolled  to  the  quarter  where  people  live 
who  live  on  ten  thousand  dollars,  and,  by  good 
fortune,  saw  at  the  window  she  who  had  been 
Gussie  Meade  before  marrying  a  man  not  a  black- 
smith. So,  having  looked  well,  I  went  back  to  my 
hotel.  Every  day  that  week,  and  on  some  days 
more  than  once  I  saw  her — and  at  church,  also, 
during  a  long  sitting.  But  she  looked  ever  the 
same;  so,  in  the  end,  I  fared  back  to  Mizzoury- 
ville,  divining  that  after  all  is  said,  there  are 
harder  conditions  than  that  of  living  single. 

This  news  greeted  me,  in  tones  of  high  tri- 
umph: the  first  payment  on  the  New  Railroad 
would  soon  be  made,  fifty  thousand  dollars  from 
Mizzouryville,  and  as  much  again  from  nearby 

217 


2i 8        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

jumping-off  places,  most  of  it  coming  out  of  the 
pockets  of  men  who  could  afford  it  least.  The 
road  had  been  surveyed,  the  right  of  way  thumbed 
under  options,  and  in  early  June  there  was  to  be 
given  by  the  Selwyns  a  great  Celebration  Ball. 
Yes,  and  those  who  danced  might  feel  that  they 
were  not  only  tripping  it  toward  fortune,  but 
flinging  a  foot  at  those  "mossbacks"  who,  in  truth, 
remained  the  repository  of  common  sense  in  Miz- 
zouryville  County. 

When  first  landed  in  town,  you  would  not  have 
supposed  Sylvia  and  her  soul  mate  could  have 
gathered  together  sufficient  people  to  hold  a  cele- 
bration, for  no  one  was  mealy-mouthed  in  express- 
ing their  indignation,  much  as  all  held  Van  Buren 
Hightower  in  respect.  But  sometimes  I  have  sat 
down  to  consider  with  amazement  what  people 
can  accustom  themselves  to.  A  man  and  woman 
unmarried,  yet  living  together,  give  rise  to  head- 
lines so  contrary  to  decency  and  order,  that  one 
would  spend  his  last  nickel  for  the  paper  setting 
forth  the  details.  But  when  you  meet  such  on 
your  streets  just  like  anybody,  carrying  a  tin 
bucket  to  fetch  milk  from  the  very  old  settler  who 
sells  to  you  (and  will  not  deliver)  it's  different. 
When  people  are  thrown  with  you  in  daily  living, 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         219 

they  lose  their  gloss.  Therefore  I  did  not  doubt 
that  the  Celebration  Ball  would  bring  the  town 
to  the  promoter's  feet. 

Add  to  this  that  we  are  chary  of  giving  dinners 
and  entertainments,  being  practical  folk,  not  dis- 
posed to  spread  our  victuals  as  a  banquet  for  birds, 
sharing  rather  with  kinsmen  and  that  none  too 
often,  though  loud  in  eulogy  of  the  hospitality  of 
our  forefathers.  Times  come  when  the  church, 
with  an  idea  of  promoting  friendliness  amongst 
its  members — of  whom  there  are  always  some  at 
deadly  feud,  though  the  cause,  like-enough,  for- 
gotten— the  church  plans  a  series  of  "socials,"  the 
first  always  at  the  minister's,  and  there,  an  end. 
But  the  Selwyns  had  thrown  Van  Buren's  cot- 
tage wide  open  and  had  even  built  on  a  room, 
and  there  were  dances  for  the  young,  a  sitting- 
around  for  the  old,  musicales  for  the  idle,  and 
spreads  for  the  hearty. 

In  speaking  largely  I  have  gone  ahead  of  my 
story  and  must  now  narrow  the  view  to  the  night 
of  Laclede's  appointment.  At  home  I  was  wait- 
ing for  him  when,  to  my  surprise,  Dahlia  came 
knocking  at  the  door.  I  knew  only  a  pressing  mat- 
ter could  have  brought  her  there  alone,  but  felt 
obliged  to  warn  her  that  Lane  was  expected  and 


220        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

that  the  time  was  his.  While  making  it  clear,  I 
was  all  the  time  thinking:  "What  a  pity  some 
good  man  did  not  win  her  for  his  wife !  Seems 
unfair  for  that  rounded  form  to  hide  a  disap- 
pointed heart  .  .  .  those  soft,  pretty  cheeks  never 
to  know  the  touch  of  love!" 

"I  knew  about  Lane,"  she  said,  and  came  on 
into  the  house,  pale  and  nervous.  It  touched  my 
heart  to  see  one  so  young  looking  so  worn,  like  a 
flower  that  has  folded  up  because  the  light  has 
died  out  of  her  sky. 

I  didn't  know  what  I  ought  to  do  for  it  wasn't 
the  same  as  if  she  were  seated  beside  an  elder 
brother.  People  passing  could  not  have  seen  my 
brotherhood;  but  I  didn't  pull  down  the  blind,  just 
sat  straight  in  my  chair  with  my  most  fatherly  ex- 
pression. And  I  said  as  plain  as  if  there  were  no 
dimple  in  her  chin  that  she  shouldn't  have  come. 

Thereupon  she  began  to  talk  fast,  but  without 
bearings,  finding  herself  tossed  from  point  to 
point  and  exceedingly  hard  to  follow,  giving  me 
in  general  what  I  had  long  since  guessed.  The 
shot  that  had  put  an  end  to  Taggart  Gleason  had 
not  made  a  scratch  on  the  debts  he  left,  and  the 
widow  had  shouldered  all  of  them,  sacrificing  her 
home  and  her  millinery  shop  and  slaving  from 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         221 

morn  to  night — for  the  main  reasons,  as  I  be- 
lieve, that  her  stepdaughter  might  not  suspect  her 
glad  of  being  widowed.  Of  course  Zenia  be- 
lieved her  glad,  and  that  made  Dahlia  work  the 
harder.  When  Zenia  married  Big  Dave  Over- 
street,  she  took  her  stepmother  to  live  with  her 
in  the  mansion  where  poor  Mrs.  Patty  had  laid 
down  the  scepter. 

Being  a  man,  and  hearty,  I  do  not  pretend  to 
understand  the  duel  waged  between  the  two 
women.  Zenia,  as  passionately  fond  of  her  father 
as  ever  was  woman  of  worthless  man,  kept  an 
unwinking  eye  upon  Dahlia  lest  she  put  forth 
leaves  of  healing.  And  Dahlia,  determined  that 
no  one,  least  of  all  Zenia,  should  think  her  capable 
of  enjoying  her  liberty,  which  would  mean  she  was 
glad  Lane  had  killed  her  husband,  she,  I  say, 
hugged  her  mourning,  and  if  there  had  been  any 
blacker  in  the  shops,  she'd  have  bought  it.  And 
yet,  all  the  while,  Dahlia  wondered  if  Zenia  knew 
how  she  rejoiced  at  being  rid  of  her  chains,  and 
Zenia  was  wondering  if  there  was  the  least  shadow 
of  repentance  or  sorrow  in  her  stepmother's  heart, 
or  if  she  and  Lane  had  not  plotted  Gleason's  mur- 
der. 

"I  can't  bear  it  any  longer,"  Dahlia  cried  out 


222        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

in  smothered  tones.  "If  I  had  a  spot  of  my  own, 
however  humble,  I'd  never  set  foot  on  Zenia's 
place  again.  Her  deceitful  politeness  is  killing 
me.  And  yet — I  wouldn't  dare  leave  her  roof. 
If  she  couldn't  watch  me  all  the  time,  she'd  think 
Lane  and  I  are  meeting.  I've  got  to  live  by  her 
side  all  my  life — where  she  can  watch  me.  She's 
jealous  of  my  thoughts.  She  asks  what  I'm  think- 
ing about.  We  never  mention  him.  But  she  talks 
about  Lane — how  he  did  it.  And  I  have  to  listen, 
and  seem  not  to  care.  She  knows  I  care."  She 
looked  at  me,  dry-eyed. 

I  asked  her  why  ruin  her  life  because  of  what 
Zenia  might  suspect.  She  said  that  was  some- 
thing I  could  never  understand,  not  being  a 
woman.  I  talked  a  long  while — said  everything. 
She  was  just  where  I'd  found  her  when  I 
started. 

"I  must  live  where  she  can  watch  me,"  she  re- 
peated dully.  "She  must  know,  must  know  ab- 
solutely, that  Lane  and  I  do  not  meet.  Stick, 
you  know  what  Zenia  thinks — well,  it  isn't  all 
false.  One  night  when  he  was  drunk  he  was  so 
terrible  that  I  could  have  killed  him,  almost. 
And  I  told  Lane  about  it.  And  he  said  to  call 
for  him  if  he  were  ever  that  way  again.  I  didn't 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        223 

call  for  him,  but  he  was  that  way  again  and — and 
Lane  did  it." 

I  tried  to  drive  these  mad  delusions  from  her 
mind. 

She  looked  down  at  her  clasped  hands  and  her 
manner  changed.  "Stick,"  she  said,  very  slow 
and  faint,  "I  understand  you  are  looking  for 
some  one  to  cheer  your  lonely  life  and  serve  you 
faithfully  until  death.  And  I've  always  come  to 
you  in  my  troubles,  ever  since  I  was  a  little  girl 
and — well,  and  that's  why  I  came  to-night."  She 
started  up  hurriedly  and  looked  at  me  with  un- 
steady eyes.  "Don't  you  understand  that  I  must 
have  shelter,  or  die?" 

I  took  her  by  the  hand  and  led  her  to  the  door 
with  these  words:  "My  dear,  I  have  it  from 
Jim  Bob  that  the  people  who  bought  the  Col- 
lege are  moving  in  and  want  me — I  don't  know 
how  they  know  of  me — to  recommend  a  house- 
keeper. I'll  recommend  you;  with  plenty  to  do 
you'll  quit  torturing  yourself  with  wondering 
what  Zenia  thinks.  For  good  work  is  the  best 
shelter  from  the  unkind  thoughts  of  the  world. 
Good-night,  my  dear;  always  come  to  me  in  time 
of  need." 

So  I  sent  her  away  looking  as  if  she  did  not 


224        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

rightly  understand  whether  she'd  got  what  she 
came  for  or  not;  and  soon  after  Lane  Laclede  was 
at  the  door,  gray  of  face,  desperate  hard  of  eye. 
And— 

"Has  Dahlia  been  here?"  he  asked. 

"Just  as  you  two  planned,"  said  I. 

He  stretched  out  his  arm:  "I'd  give  my  body 
to  make  that  woman  happy."  He  added  under 
his  breath,  "I've  already  given  my  soul.  What 
did  you  say  to  her?"  he  jerked  out,  his  face 
slowly  turning  a  dull  crimson,  and  his  right  hand 
clenching  and  quivering,  then  spreading  wide  its 
fingers  as  if  to  drop  something  upon  the  floor — 
doing  this  over  and  over,  while  the  color  deep- 
ened in  his  gaunt  cheeks. 

"The  new  owners  of  the  College,"  said  I,  "want 
a  housekeeper.  I'm  going  to  get  Dahlia  the  place. 
It'll  help  take  her  mind  off  her  troubles.  That 
was  all  I  could  do  for  her,  but  I  believe  it'll  work. 
If  she  stays  much  longer  with  Zenia,  she'll  lose 
her  mind." 

There  was  a  slender  iron  bar  on  the  table,  and 
he  took  it  up  aimlessly,  holding  it  in  both  hands, 
his  head  bowed.  I'll  never  forget  that  look  on 
his  face.  It  made  me  feel  that  all  the  troubles 
I  had  ever  known  and  all  the  disappointments  I 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        225 

had  let  rankle  in  my  breast  were  but  as  grains 
of  dust  in  a  summer  wind  compared  to  the  ter- 
rific forces  that  shake  the  earth  in  a  hurricane. 
He  said  in  a  keen  voice  that  was  drawn  with  such 
ruthless  force  from  his  inner  self  that  it  shook 
him  from  head  to  foot — 

"My  God !  how  I  love  her  I"  Then  he  flung  the 
bits  of  iron  upon  the  table;  for  he  had  broken 
the  bar  in  two. 

"Even  as  she  loves  you,  and  would  sacrifice 
herself  for  your  sake." 

He  nodded.  Perhaps  he  stayed  an  hour  after 
that,  but  not  another  word  did  we  exchange.  In 
the  end,  he  simply  got  up  and  went  away  with- 
out looking  back;  and  when,  next  day,  we  met 
at  Old  Settlers'  Bench,  there  was  nothing  except 
that  movement  of  his  right  hand  to  show  that 
he  was  not  the  same  handsome,  easy-going,  in- 
different Lane  Laclede  we  had  always  known  and 
loved. 


XXVIII 

To  Measure  a  Man's  Promises,  Get  the  Tape- 
line  of  His  Past  Accomplishments 

IT  was  nearly  time  for  William  to  come  home 
to  marry  Laidie  before  I  met  either  of  the 
Ludlow  sisters,  both  single,  the  new  owners  and 
tenants  of  the  College.  Dahlia  had  been  serving 
them  as  housekeeper  for  a  couple  of  months 
when,  one  morning,  I  started  to  take  the  cross- 
cut from  the  railroad  to  the  old  sawmill,  this 
cut  leading  from  the  front  stiles  across  the  cam- 
pus. I  don't  know  that  I  was  ever  more  indig- 
nant than  when  a  woman's  voice,  pleasant  enough 
as  to  quality,  cried  out  from  the  locust  grove  in 
the  yard — 

"Don't  you  walk  on  our  grass!  This  is  pri- 
vate property,  now.  You  go  around,  will  you? 
That's  what  the  public  road  is  for,  isn't  it?" 

I  stood  stock  still  with  plenty  to  say,  but  none 
226 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         227 

of  it  suitable.  I'd  taken  that  short-cut  since  the 
closing  of  the  College -doors;  and  to  have  a  brace 
of  newcomers,  two  old  maids  from  nobody  knew 
where,  talk  in  this  wise  to  an  old  settler  was 
enough  to  make  the  blood  boil.  But  everything 
that  came  to  my  mind  was  too  heavy  to  cast 
at  birds,  so  I  turned  heel  and  marched  off, 
dumb. 

Over  this  I  was  stirred  up  all  morning,  my 
mind  showing  a  wonderful  activity  that  endured 
past  dinner.  I  think  it  was  about  two  o'clock  as 
I  stood  in  my  shop  cutting  out  a  block  of  tin 
(though  that  was  a  tinner's  business,  hence  pure 
accommodation,  therefore  small  thanks  received) 
when  suddenly,  I  never  knew  why,  unless  of  the 
morning's  affront,  a  thought  fell  from  my  thought- 
tree.  It  wasn't  a  stray  leaf,  but  full-grown  fruit, 
ripe  and  heavy.  I  finished  the  tin-cutting  and 
closed  my  shop — it  was  Saturday  afternoon — 
and  made  for  the  public  square,  where  the  horses 
ringed  around  the  courthouse  told  me  the  farm- 
ers were  in  town. 

Finding  some  of  the  wealthiest  at  Bank  Cor- 
ner, I  beguiled  them  by  signs  of  secrecy  to  the 
courthouse  wall  that  shuts  in  the  yard  where  there 
was  no  danger  of  our  being  overheard  unless  by 


228        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

tenants  of  the  county  jail.  In  all  its  nakedness 
I  laid  my  plan  under  their  eyes.  Octavius  Sel- 
wyn  with  his  railroad  scheme  had  not  sprung  out 
of  the  ground,  I  argued,  from  any  dragon's  tooth. 
Find  if,  at  his  last  lighting-place,  he  had  not 
foisted  just  such  another  proposition  upon  the 
people,  leaving  them  with  the  bag  to  hold.  Even 
if  too  late  to  save  our  citizens  from  the  first  pay- 
ment, our  probing  into  Selwyn's  past  might  at 
least  rid  ourselves  of  his  pestiferous  cries  for  a 
new  high  school,  waterworks,  a  Bigger  Mizzoury- 
ville  and  what  not. 

I  didn't  know  a  farmer  who  lay  down  at  night 
with  five  hundred  acres  under  him  who  would 
have  given  a  snap  of  his  fingers  for  electric  lights 
or  grand  opera  over  the  hardware  store  (where 
our  opera  house  is)  every  night  in  the  week.  The 
men  I  was  talking  to  owned  each  about  a  thousand 
acres,  and  they  took  hold  readily.  We  made  up 
a  purse  to  send  our  school  superintendent  in  quest 
of  Selwyn  facts,  he  being  a  man  of  intelligence 
as  became  one  in  his  business,  and  needy,  as  hav- 
ing followed  it  most  of  his  life.  His  school  was 
out,  for  we  were  in  the  middle  of  May,  hence 
he  was  free  to  kill  time  till  autumn,  such  being 
the  privilege  of  this  rather  idle  trade. 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        229 

Two  weeks  he  was  gone,  coming  back  stocked 
with  information  on  the  very  train,  as  it  chanced, 
that  brought  William  home  from  St.  Louis. 

It  was  about  ten  on  a  bright  moonlight  night, 
when  our  "accommodation"  stopped  at  the  plat- 
form, the  steers  bellowing  from  the  attached  cat- 
tle-car, and  the  chickens  squawking  from  the  ex- 
press car,  and  the  passengers  fighting  to  get  off 
before  a  stream  of  eager  travelers  could  squeeze 
themselves  on.  William,  of  course,  first  claimed 
my  attention,  but  scarcely  less  important,  in  view 
of  his  mission,  was  our  superintendent,  whose 
name  I  cannot  recall.  After  my  son's  embrace, 
the  teacher  grabbed  my  hand  with:  "I  think  we 
have  all  we  need  about  Octavius  Selwyn!" 

Even  at  that  confusing  moment,  I  found  my 
attention  caught  by  a  third  man — tall,  slender,  a 
handkerchief  tied  to  hide  one  eye  and  a  slouch 
hat  pulled  low  over  the  other  as  if  to  avoid  recog- 
nition. At  first  I  took  him  to  be  Si  Cobwalter, 
who,  some  years  before,  had  moved  to  Chilli- 
cothe,  and  as  such  I  hailed  him,  not  from  friend- 
liness, but  to  show  that  my  memory  worked.  I 
would  give  no  encouragement  as  seeming  glad 
to  have  him  back,  for  we  want  those  who  move 
away  to  stay  away,  it  being  unsettling  to  our 


230        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

minds  not  to  know  what  to  expect,  once  they 
begin  skipping  from  pillar  to  post. 

But  the  man  with  the  handkerchief  was  not 
Si  Cobwalter,  and  when  he  gave  me  a  look,  odd 
but  fleeting,  there  was  a  great  rush  of  wind  in 
my  thought-tree,  dislodging  the  idea  that  I'd  seen 
that  man  in  circumstances  dark  and  sinister.  He 
walked  rapidly  down  the  track,  disappearing  in 
the  shadow  of  the  tank.  I  speak  of  him  thus  as 
if  he  were  a  mystery;  and  I  should  be  dealing 
without  fairness  if  I  spoke  otherwise. 

Hurriedly  explaining  to  William  the  important 
business  on  foot — "I'll  walk  home  with  you," 
said  I,  "and  in  the  meantime  this  gentleman" 
(calling  the  teacher  by  name)  "may  telephone  to 
the  farmers  to  assemble  at  our  appointed  place, 
where  I'll  join  them  without  loss  of  time." 

So  William  ordered  his  suitcases  and  trunks 
to  be  delivered  the  next  morning — there's  not  a 
transfer  man  in  Mizzouryville  who  can  be  induced 
to  do  business  after  sundown — and  we  set  forth 
to  follow  the  railroad  track  to  town. 

I  had  just  brought  up  the  subject  of  Laidie, 
finding  him  docile  enough,  when  the  College  came 
in  sight,  after  which  he  could  give  me  nothing 
but  yes  and  no,  so  I  divined  of  what  he  was  think- 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        231 

ing.  To  clear  his  mind  off  its  sandbar,  I  began 
telling  how  the  new  tenants  had  ordered  me  out 
of  the  yard  and  I  put  as  much  heat  into  the  cook- 
ing of  the  tale  as  I  could  coax  from  kindlings 
that  had  already  been  charred;  but  when  I  had 
come  to  the  end  of  it,  he  was  still  fast  aground. 


XXIX 

There's  More  Eloquence  in  a  Yellow  Rose  Than 
in  a  Congressional  Record 

AS  we  neared  the  steps  leading  from  the  rail- 
road to  the  top  of  the  wall  whose  coping  is 
on  a  level  with  the  bluegrass  campus,  we  dis- 
covered a  seated  figure.  Since  no  lights  showed 
from  the  brick  building,  we  thought  it  strange 
that  any  of  the  family  should  be  there  at  half- 
past  ten,  with  small  chance  of  a  cry  for  help  -being 
heard  from  the  far  end  of  the  avenue.  The  stiles 
and  root-veined  path  were  blurred  by  overhang- 
ing branches,  but  the  moon  found  its  way  to  the 
young  woman's  face,  making  me  think  of  a  lily 
floating  in  pearly  mist — and  making  William 
think  of  a  spirit;  the  same  spirit  which,  since  a 
certain  rainy  night  three  years  ago,  had  haunted 
his  life. 

I  stopped  deep-rooted  with  a  gasp — "It's  the 
232 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        233 

girl-out-of-the-common  1"  But  William  didn't 
stop.  The  next  thing  I  knew,  she  was  standing 
on  the  topmost  ledge,  while  he,  several  steps  be- 
low, was  holding  both  her  hands;  and  as  he  tried 
to  tell  her  how  rejoiced  he  felt  over  this  miracle 
of  a  meeting,  she,  glad  but  not  surprised — she'd 
been  waiting  for  us — threw  in  how  she'd  ven- 
tured back  to  Mizzouryville  for  a  last  glimpse 
of  him  before  his  marriage.  And  I  held  it  wrong 
of  her  to  have  come  for  this  last  view,  since  it 
was  not  as  if  she  were  gazing  upon  a  painted 
form,  he  being  very  much  alive.  She  tried  to 
draw  away,  but  he  made  nothing  of  my  being 
there,  insomuch  that  I  scarcely  knew  which  way 
to  look. 

"If  I  loosen  my  hold  on  you,  you'll  vanish," 
he  said,  so  happy  that  my  heart  ached.  "I  must 
tell  you  all  you've  meant  to  me  this  long  while 
— but  if  you  escape,  how  can  I  call  you  back?  I've 
no  name  for  you  except  the  one  in  my  heart." 

She  looked  over  his  shoulder  at  me,  big-eyed, 
and  asked,  breathless,  "Stick,  may  he  call  me 
by  the  name  in  his  heart?"  She  was  all  aglow. 

I  tried  to  hang  a  pound  weight  to  each  of 
my  words:  "If  he  thinks  Laidie  wouldn't  mind," 
said  I.  At  that  William  stepped  aside,  and  I 


234        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

shook  hands  with  her,  speaking  of  the  last  time 
we'd  met,  the  night  of  Taggart  Gleason's  death. 
But  those  two  made  little  of  my  words,  so  full 
of  sheer  delight  that  they  cared  not  whose  eyes 
were  blinded — if  they  felt  anything  for  me,  it  was 
that  condescending  pity  that  young  years  feel 
for  a  wise  head.  They  wouldn't  have  traded 
those  few  minutes  of  being  together  for  as  many 
years  lived  apart,  for  youth  is  a  poor  bargainer 
with  old  Father  Time,  and  is  like  to  be  cheated 
out  of  a  comfortable  future  by  the  lure  of  a  little 
love. 

"Let's  sit  here  where  we  met  to  go  to  my 
party,"  she  said,  just  as  eager  as  he,  "and  talk 
and  talk — everything  we  want  to  say  must  be  said 
to-night.  Do  you  remember  when  I  first  came 
to  Mizzouryville  as  a  teacher,  I  gave  my  name 
as  'Miss  Cereus'?  That's  because  the  cereus  is 
a  night-blooming  flower  and  must  close  up  with 
the  dawn.  This  time  it's  to  be  for  good  and  all." 

"But  why?"  he  pleaded,  sitting  at  her  feet. 
"Little  Night  Bloomer,  it  shall  not  be  for  good 
and  alll"  And  his  voice  rang  with  command. 

I  cleared  my  throat.  William  never  would 
have  been  the  high-graced  ambitious  fellow  he 
was  but  for  her,  yet  when  his  voice  sounded  soft, 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         235 

not  like  a  man's,  and  his  eyes  glowed  as  they 
did  now,  I  looked  for  the  reason  in  the  moon,  and 
saw  ahead  when  the  sun  would  be  in  the  sky 
and  Laidie  at  the  altar. 

"I  have  always  wanted  to  know,"  William 
murmured,  "if  you  were  really  angry  with  me  in 
the  chapel  when  Jim  Bob  broke  up  our  party." 

"You  were  so  bashful  and  awkward,"  said  she, 
"I  never  could  understand  how  you  dared." 

"I  was  inspired.    When  you  kissed  father " 

"But  dear  old  Stick — why,  he's  a  regular  pa- 
triarch!" 

"It  was  all  my  soul  had  to  live  on  till  we  met 
again,"  he  told  her. 

She  shook  back  her  hair,  looking  down  at  him 
from  under  half-closed  lids  so  that  her  eyes  were 
almost  hidden.  There  was  in  her  expression 
something  so  remote  and  yet  so  near  that  for  a 
moment  or  so  he  just  forgot  what  they  were  talk- 
ing about,  and  stared  with  beating  heart — stared 
at  the  long  dark  lashes,  the  eye-gleams,  like  lights 
turned  down  low  beside  one's  hearth,  the  pensive, 
softly-molded  lips  he  had  once  dared  kiss. 

His  voice  sounded  gruff  because,  I  think,  he 
feared  to  show  his  feeling:  "Answer  my  ques- 
tion!" 


236        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

Roused  from  deep  musing,  she  looked  anxious, 
as  if  wondering  how  she  had  offended  him.  "Did 
you  ask  something?"  She  touched  his  arm  with 
fluttering  fingers:  "Tell  me  what  you  want  me 
to  say." 

"That  you  are  glad  I  kissed  you." 

Her  face  changed  so  quick  from  troubled  doubt 
to  radiant  understanding  that  I  think  he  had  all 
his  eyes  could  bear.  She  asked,  like  a  playful 
child,  "Shall  I  tell  him,  Stick?" 

I  was  dumb. 

Then  to  William,  with  wonderful  gravity: 
"Before  answering,  I  must  give  you  fair  warn- 
ing that  the  Unintended  always  goes  armed." 
Her  cheeks  burned.  "The  answer  is,  Yes,"  she 
said. 

Behind  them  the  campus  with  its  dark  masses 
of  interlocked  trees,  their  outer  fringe  painted 
white;  before  them  an  old  brick  church,  and  a 
sleeping  cottage  like  a  silver  picture  set  against 
the  blue  sky;  and  within  reach  of  my  foot,  the 
gleaming  rails  from  the  world  that's  real,  where 
people  are  not  out  of  the  common,  and  where 
everything  and  everybody  has  a  name. 

A  man  came  briskly  along  the  railroad,  his 
tall,  slim  figure  clear-cut  against  the,  moon.  A 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         237 

handkerchief  hid  half  his  face,  a  drooping  hat 
shaded  his  brow.  Keen  as  knifeblades  were  his 
darting  glances  as  he  gave  us  "Good  evening," 
in  a  deep  bass  voice. 

The  girl  responded  impulsively,  "A  beautiful 
night!" 

He  almost  stopped.  "Thank  you,"  he  said, 
finding  it  hard  to  go. 

She  asked  William,  "Did  you  feel  queer? 
What  a  kindly  stranger!  And  he  has  walked 
out  of  our  lives.  People  are  always  walking 
out  of  our  lives  who  might  be  good  friends  if 
they  would  stay."  She  sighed. 

I  told  her  I'd  seen  him  get  off  the  train,  and 
the  superintendent  had  told  me  he'd  asked  a  thou- 
sand questions  about  our  New  Railroad  scheme. 

"But  why  did  he  thank  me?"  she  wondered. 

"Because  you  spoke  to  him,"  said  William. 
"Just  as  I  thank  you  because  you  look  at  me." 

"William,"  said  I,  "shall  we  be  going?" 

She  turned  on  me  so  quick  that  I  caught  my 
breath.  "Stick,"  she  said,  in  a  broken  voice,  "I 
am  just  for  this  once — and  Laidie  is  for  a  life- 
time." She  paused  till  the  long  drawn-out  wail 
from  the  night  freight  died  away  like  the  cooing 


238        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

of  a  dove,  then  whispered,  "Give  us  only  the  time 
till  the  train  has  passed  by." 

I  knew  the  freight  would  stop  to  switch  be- 
fore it  came  through  town,  but  I  said  nothing. 
Somehow  her  tone  had  caught  my  throat  in  a 

grip- 

Then  William  spoke,  and  his  voice  was  broken 
just  like  hers:  "If  you'd  been  thinking  of  me 
the  years  I've  been  thinking  of  you — and  if  things 
were  different  while  we  were  the  same — I'd  call 
you  by  the  name  in  my  heart;  and  there'd  be  no 
parting  after  the  train  has  passed  by." 

She  didn't  stir  till  we  heard  the  whistle  for 
the  bridge  at  the  edge  of  town.  "Uncle  died  a 
year  ago,"  she  murmured.  "The  Companion  is 
the  only  rope  I  have  by  which  I  swing  to  con- 
ventionality— when  she's  gone,  goodness  knows 
what'll  happen !  I'm  so  frightened  at  having  no 
one  to  sit  in  authority  that  I  keep  her — you  re- 
member how  the  frogs  had  a  log  for  their  king? 
That  way.  I'm  afraid  of  myself — so  full  of  wild 
schemes  and  daring — I  want  to  fill  my  pockets 
and  go  out  after  adventure;  but  the  more  I  want 
to  roam,  the  tighter  I  cling  to  the  Companion. 
I  couldn't  help  breaking  loose  to-night  because 
the  paper  said  you  were  coming  home,  and  I 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        239 

knew  you'd  pass  the  old  stile.  But  I  mean  to 
put  strong  chains  on  my  demon  of  unrest  and 
finish  my  adventures  with  this  meeting.  And 
why  not?  I've  seen  how  you've  turned  out." 

He  took  her  hand:  "And  how  do  you  like  your 
job?" 

"Just  finel" 

He  held  her  hand  upon  his  breast  and  asked, 
deep  and  low,  "Can  you  guess  what  I've  kept  in 
this  pocket  since  we  first  met?" 

After  a  little  hesitation,  she  whispered,  "A 
yellow  rose?" 

"The  one  you  gave  me  in  the  dark.  And  a 
few  blades  of  grass  where  you  stood  in  our 
yard." 

She  started  up  swiftly  as  if  to  escape  her  grief; 
for  she  was  crying.  "The  old  rosebush  is  still 
by  the  well,"  she  faltered,  "full  of  roses  .  .  .  and 
I  know  the  family  wouldn't  hear  us  ...  Would 
you  like  a  fresh  one?" 

So  they  vanished  up  the  path  between  the  ma- 
ples and  I  waited,  heavy  at  heart,  but  still  con- 
fident that  after  she  had  gone  her  ways,  he  would 
grow  used  to  Laidie,  telling  myself  that  the  lit- 
tle night-wanderer  could  be  for  him  no  fitting 


24o        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

mate,  though  a  fair  enough  picture  in  a  moon- 
light dream. 

When  they  came  back  she  was  walking  hur- 
riedly; it  may  have  been  because  the  long  groan- 
ing freight  train  had  drawn  up  the  grade  and 
the  yellow  caboose  was  creeping  past  the  stiles 
at  a  snail's  pace  as  if  for  a  moment  fate  were 
slowing  down  for  her — or  it  may  have  been  be- 
cause in  the  darkness,  beside  the  fragrant  rose- 
bush, he  had  called  her  by  the  name  in  his  heart. 

Evidently  they  had  agreed  upon  no  more  fare- 
wells, for  she  caught  my  hand  to  press  it,  then 
darted  down  the  stiles  and  swung  herself  aboard 
the  caboose.  He  stood  on  the  top  of  the  wall 
gazing  with  all  his  might,  and  she  held  her  face 
toward  him  in  the  moonlight  that  he  might  see 
clearly,  and  she  would  have  given  him  a  long 
look,  only  the  tears  were  falling  so  fast  she  could 
not  keep  them  brushed  from  her  eyes. 


XXX 

Watch  the  Man  Who  Doesn't  Want  to  Be  Seen 

I  TOOK  William  from  his  dream  at  the  Col- 
lege stiles  to  my  business  at  the  Old  Log 
School  House — about  three  miles  out  in  the  coun- 
try, where  the  superintendent  had  agreed  to  as- 
semble the  farmers.  We  found  half  a  dozen 
there;  and  after  our  emissary  had  related  all  he 
knew  of  Octavius  Selwyn,  we  had  him  write  it 
out  for  next  day's  circular  distribution.  And  after 
we  had  thrown  out  that  which  was  not  essential 
to  his  tale — he  being  a  hundred  times  more 
grieved  over  what  we  cut  out  than  pleased  over 
what  we  left  in — it  was  still  so  early,  I  remem- 
ber, that  the  shadows  of  ragweeds  growing  across 
the  dusty  road  spangled  the  side  of  the  school- 
house  as  high  as  the  row  of  windows. 

Here  is  what  we  learned:     Before  coming  to 
Mizzouryville,  Selwyn  had  operated  a  railroad 

241 


242        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

scheme  in  Arkansas  similar  to  the  one  offered 
us.  On  the  road  being  surveyed,  and  the  right 
of  way  obtained,  stockholders  had  paid  down 
half;  whereupon  our  promoter,  instead  of  going 
ahead,  had  slipped  away  with  the  cash  in  his 
bags.  Now,  this  was  the  dawn  of  the  day  that 
called  for  half  payments  in  Mizzouryville ;  and 
before  a  penny  had  been  paid  down,  our  facts 
were  in  the  possession  of  every  business  man  in 
the  county,  either  in  cold  print  or  by  heated  tele- 
phone. 

I  closed  my  shop  that  day  to  work  in  the  peo- 
ple's interests,  drawing  such  pay  as  usually  falls 
to  the  lot  of  a  man  working  in  that  cause — many 
frowns  and  little  thanks.  In  my  part  of  the 
country,  when  you  give  your  time  and  strength 
for  the  public,  it  turns  them  cold,  they  suspecting 
that  you  have  some  hidden  way  of  "getting  some- 
thing out  of  it";  whereas  if  you  make  it  plain 
that  you're  after  office  for  your  own  pocketbook, 
sometimes  they'll  cheer  you  on. 

Hard  as  we  strove  to  bring  the  people  to  rea- 
son, news  came  to  Old  Settlers'  Bench  and  to  Bank 
Corner  that  payments  were  being  made  right 
along.  For  holders  of  certificates  to  have  ad- 
mitted possibility  of  fraud  would  have  been  to  con- 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         243 

fess  themselves  unwise  in  entering  the  scheme; 
and  it's  easier  for  a  man  to  continue  in  the  way 
of  a  fool  to  the  end  of  his  days  than  by  facing 
about,  admit  that  he  has  been  one.  Therefore 
they  called  us  old  fogies  and  abused  us  as  being 
opposed  to  progression.  To  strengthen  their 
hands,  Selwyn  gracefully  admitted  our  superin- 
tendent's statements,  claiming  that  he  meant  to 
return  to  Arkansas  and  complete  that  railroad  as 
soon  as  he  had  ours  under  way,  he  to  put  a  big 
corporation  behind  both,  as  finding  it  cheaper  to 
build  railroads  in  the  bulk  than  piecemeal. 

But  there  was  a  reason  still  stronger  for 
prompt  payment — the  law,  as  expounded  in  loud 
mouthings  by  Lancaster  Overstreet.  In  black  and 
white  stood  the  agreement  to  pay  down  before 
six  o'clock  of  this  day,  and  those  certificates,  the 
same  as  personal  notes,  would  begin  drawing  in- 
terest at  seven  per  cent.,  and  would  run  on  and 
on,  railroad  or  no  railroad,  with  no  legal  remedy 
to  stop  the  flux. 

So  paid  it  all  was,  Selwyn  cashing  every  check 
as  it  came  in,  so  that  by  six  o'clock  he  had  over 
serenty-five  thousand  dollars  in  his  steel  safe  over 
Tidlin's  "Meat  Market"  (the  butcher-shop). 

That  was  the  night  of  the  Celebration  Ball.    It 


244        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

would  be  idle  for  the  most  rabid  advocates  of 
a  "Bigger  Mizzouryville"  to  claim  that  our  super- 
intendent's circular  was  without  effect.  On  the 
contrary,  there  was  a  quick  feverish  pulse  fn  town 
all  day  which  by  night  was  beating  above  a  hun- 
dred. People  felt  that  their  fates  depended  upon 
Octavius  Selwyn,  who  had  their  money  and,  in 
exchange,  had  given  them  nothing.  He  must  be 
kept  in  good  humor;  and  an  invitation  to  his  ball 
was  like  a  king's  request  to  the  characters  in 
some  of  the  books  in  the  smokehouse. 

Since  Van  Buren's  cottage  was  too  small  for 
the  festivities,  the  last  Mrs.  Big  Dave  Overstreet 
— I  mean  Zenia — proffered  the  use  of  her  man- 
sion. Time  was  when  our  best  set  wouldn't  have 
put  foot  in  Taggart  Gleason's  place,  unless  to 
buy  a  new  bonnet,  but  now  Zenia  was  the  bell- 
wether of  the  flock  of  fashion,  with  the  Over- 
street  brand  on  her  forehead  and  the  Overstreet 
estate  for  her  horn  of  plenty.  And  hers  was  a 
fitting  scene  for  the  celebration,  since  our  great 
trouble  would  never  have  befallen  us  had  she  not 
sold  the  Springs  property  inherited  from  her  hus- 
band. ("Poor  papa  would  have  wished  it,"  she 
said,  very  pious.  "It  nearly  broke  his  heart  when 
mother  refused  to  sign  a  duplicate  deed  for  the 

r* 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         245 

sale  of  the  Rockpile.  Papa  loved  this  town,  and 
everybody  loved  him  who  knew  him.  Papa  was 
the  father  of  the  progressive  movement,"  said 
she.) 

"Of  course,"  I  told  William,  "I  shall  not  go 
to  this  ball,  but  with  you  it's  another  story.  The 
town  may  have  forgotten  that  Sylvia  is  not  a  law- 
fully wedded  wife,  but  Laidie  never  forgets,  and 
if  you  stay  away  you'll  hurt  her  cruelly.  Now 
that  the  Unintended  has  ridden  out  of  your  life, 
it's  for  you  to  act  as  if  she  had  never  come  into  it." 

"I  want  to  stay  at  home  with  you,"  he  pleaded, 
futile. 

I  was  determined  he  should  be  at  that  ball  with 
every  eye  set  upon  him  as  upon  a  man  bespoken, 
marked  out  from  his  fellows.  The  Chinese  lan- 
terns in  the  yard  might  remind  him  of  the  girl- 
out-of-the-common,  but  Laidie  would  be  hanging 
on  his  arm  looking  her  best,  with  her  mother's 
foolishness  to  draw  them  close  together.  I  was 
pleased  at  the  prospect,  and  glad,  too,  that  Zenia's 
stepmother  would  be  spared  the  ordeal,  safe  at 
her  post  as  housekeeper  for  the  new  College  folk 
— I  could  almost  forgive  them  for  ordering  me 
off  the  grass  when  I  thought  of  the  pain  they 
were  sparing  Dahlia. 


246        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

After  supper  I  went  up  town,  my  mind  busy 
with  the  picture  of  William  making  himself  fit 
for  the  ball — only,  instead  of  him,  I  seemed  to 
see  myself,  for  I  felt  as  young  as  he  looked;  and 
because  there  was  such  a  contradiction  between 
my  years  and  my  feeling,  my  heart  was  heavy. 
I  have  lived  as  heartily  as  another,  sopping  up 
the  juices  of  content  with  a  clean  platter  to  show 
for  it;  but  I  hadn't  had  enough  of  youth,  and 
that  night  I  was  feeling  my  hunger. 

It  was  some  relief — but  very  little — to  sit  on 
Old  Settlers'  Bench  beside  others  so  much  older 
and  smaller  than  myself.  Of  course  Captain  Lit- 
tle Dave  wasn't  there,  he  being  too  wise  to  bring 
out  ninety-three  years  to  sit  in  the  falling  dew. 
But  there  was  Jim  Bob  Peterson,  chewing  his 
tobacco  and  missing  the  holes  in  the  sidewalk- 
grating;  and  Van  Buren  who  had  been  let  off 
from  the  ball  and  was  trying  to  ease  himself  in 
his  stiff  shirt;  and  Curd  Tooterflail,  who  had 
made  a  name  for  himself  when  young  by  the 
keeping  of  a  fighting  cock,  but  done  nothing  of 
note  since,  yet  was  old  enough  to  be  my  father 
(though  if  capable  of  producing  a  son  so  nimble, 
with  no  evidence  to  prove  it)  ;  and,  to  complete 
the  row,  there  was  Sheriff  Cadwitch  Beam,  of  my 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        247 

age,  but  infinitely  removed  by  a  tortoise-shelled 
brain.  In  the  doorway  stood  Lane  Laclede,  and 
it  struck  me  that  I'd  never  seen  him  so  thin  since 
he  got  his  height,  and  that,  somehow,  he  looked 
about  as  old  as  the  rest  of  us. 

We  were  not  full  of  talk  because  Doc  Snaggs 
was  driving  the  glass  coach  past  on  every  trip  to 
and  from  the  ball;  and  such  was  its  novelty — 
it  having  been  brought  overland  all  the  way  from 
St.  Joe  by  our  best  set — that  it  gave  us  almost 
as  much  pleasure  seeing  it  empty  as  filled.  When 
its  newness  had  begun  to  wear  upon  us,  I  descried 
a  man  wandering  about  like  a  lost  ghost.  It  was 
Brother  Wane,  who,  being  a  minister,  could  not 
be  called  to  the  ball  and  who,  as  one  desirous  of 
holding  his  place,  was  not  expected  to  refer  to 
dancing  from  the  pulpit,  he  being  by  the  nature 
of  his  calling  and  poverty  debarred  both  from 
the  delights  of  participation  and  denunciation. 

Divining  that  in  his  zeal  to  win  attendance  to 
his  Sunday  school  he  would  shake  hands  with  us, 
beginning  at  one  end  of  the  Bench  and  so  down 
the  line  without  the  loss  of  a  man — up  I  started, 
as  having  remembered  an  errand.  As  I  whisked 
around  the  corner,  Jim  Bob  was  writhing  in  his 
iron  grip. 


248        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

Beyond  the  corner,  I  found  the  street  deserted 
except  for  one  man  who  seemed  to  want  to  escape 
being  seen,  and  as  I  sometimes  have  that  desire 
myself,  I  was  for  slipping  back  to  Brother  Wane 
and  to  all  that  might  befall  me.  But  as  the  man 
— not  seeing  me — darted  into  the  broad  band  of 
moonlight  that  ribboned  the  middle  of  the  street, 
I  found  him  to  be  the  stranger  I  had  first  taken 
for  Si  Cobwalter  of  Chillicothe,  he  who  later 
passed  the  College  stile  and  thanked  the  Unin- 
tended for  her  pleasant  word.  He  no  longer 
wore  the  handkerchief  over  one  eye,  nor  was  his 
hat  pulled  down  to  hide  his  face,  and  as  he  leaped 
through  the  moonlight  like  a  flame's  shadow  I 
recognized  that  tall,  slim  figure,  that  granite  face. 

He  was  the  man  whose  name  had  terrified  many 
a  heart,  whose  hand  had  brought  death  to  not  a 
few — our  world-famous  highwayman,  Giles  Flit- 
terfled. 


XXXI 

Feed  Them  the  Same  Politics  and  the  Lion  and 
the  Lamb  Will  Lie  Down  Together 

BEFORE  I  could  have  cried  a  warning,  the 
highwayman  leapt  to  the  outside  staircase 
that  clings  to  the  side  of  Tidlin's  butcher-shop. 
Up  he  went  like  a  squirrel  while  I,  in  a  breath, 
dived  back  to  Old  Settlers'  Bench.  Though  of 
great  weight,  my  speed  was  rapid,  and,  thanks 
to  Brother  Wane,  I  hadn't  been  missed.  "Boys," 
I  heard  him  say,  "I'd  like  to  see  all  of  you  out  to- 
morrow at  Sunday  school "  And  seeing  me 

standing  apart,  "Brother  Attum,"  says  he,  "tell 
'em  it'll  do  'em  good;  I'm  sure  you  can  move 
them." 

"Yes,  I  think  I  could,"  said  I,  sitting  down  be- 
tween Curd  and  Cad,  my  knife  open  in  one  hand, 
and  my  other  hand  reaching  for  a  stick  to  whit- 
tle. "I  believe  I  could  move  'em  rapid."  Then 

249 


250        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

giving  Cadwitch  a  poke  in  the  side — "Mr. 
Sheriff,"  said  I,  "there's  a  man  breaking  into  the 
Bigger  Mizzouryville  office  this  minute — you'd 
better  get  busy." 

He  stared  at  me  as  if  I  were  the  moon,  and 
Jim  Bob  asked,  feeble,  "What  on  earth  are  you 
driving  at?" 

"There's  nothing,"  said  I,  "between  that  rob- 
ber and  some  seventy-five  thousand  dollars  but 
the  walls  of  a  steel  safe.  His  name  is  Giles  Flit- 
terfled."  And  I  got  up,  still  whittling. 

The  next  second  that  Old  Settlers'  Bench  was 
as  bare  as  the  back  of  my  hand.  First  I  had 
frozen  them  stiff,  then  melted  them  away.  Jim 
Bob  slopped  right  down  under  the  Bench  behind 
my  legs,  and  I  never  did  know  what  became  of 
B.,  he  not  stopping  to  debate  between  the  chance 
of  a  second  stroke  or  of  being  run  over  by  the 
safe-blower.  When  it  came  to  a  choice  of  evils, 
old  Uncle  Van  Buren  Hightower  clung  to  some- 
thing chronic.  Only  Cadwitch  Beam  stood  his 
ground,  but  he  was  shrewd  enough  to  select  the 
ground  at  the  head  of  the  alley — a  handy  exit  in 
case  of  fire. 

Just  then,  hearing  wheels  approaching  at  a  tre- 
mendous rate,  Cadwitch  drew  his  gun  and  clenched 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         251 

his  teeth.  A  buggy  whizzed  past  us  like  mad, 
and  nearly  turned  over  as  it  rounded  the  corner 
toward  the  butcher-shop. 

"It's  Octavius  Selwyn,  driving  alone  I"  Cad- 
witch  gasped.  "He  couldn't  have  got  a  tip  that 
his  office  was  being  robbed,  now  could  he?  Then 
why  has  he  come  away  from  his  Celebration 
Ball?" 

Jim  Bob  stuck  his  head  out  from  under  the 
bench  and  quavered,  "His  buggy's  stopped  right 
in  front  of  Tidlin's.  I  know  the  sound  of  a  wheel 
when  it  grinds  on  that  iron  spike  in  the  gutter. 
He'll  go  up  there  and  run  across  Flitterfled. 
They'll  fight.  I'll  bet  Flitterfled  has  got  his  gang 
guarding  the  square  from  every  street.  There'll 
be  bullets  flying.  And  dead  men." 

"Stick,"  Cadwitch  asked,  desperate,  "what 
would  you  do?" 

"I'd  get  my  posse.  You'll  find  a  ballroom  full 
of  men  at  Zenia  Overstreet's."  I  didn't  si.  my 
more  to  him — what  was  the  use?  In  those  few 
seconds  I  had  grasped  several  startling  truths,  and 
as  one  big  truth  is  enough  to  fill  a  man,  I  felt 
light-headed.  Why  had  Selwyn  converted  his 
checks  into  cash  that  day?  Evidently  all  the  time 
he  had  meant  to  drive  for  the  money  while  the 


252        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

town  was  at  his  wife's  ball,  and  skip  with  the 
cash. 

Of  course  a  thousand  lawyers  couldn't  have 
taken  that  money  from  his  "Company,"  but  a 
few  determined  citizens  are  ofttimes  stronger  than 
the  law.  Therefore,  had  he  driven  so  furiously 
to  the  meat  market,  little  suspecting  that,  up 
above,  our  celebrated  highwayman  was  examin- 
ing his  safe.  And  how  did  it  chance  that  Flitter- 
fled  was  there  on  this  night  of  all  others?  It 
was  no  chance.  Having  met  on  the  train  Mr. 
What's-his-name  (our  superintendent),  he  had 
engaged  him  in  chat  because  from  the  home  of 
his  fathers.  Giles  had  wormed  from  our  teacher 
(sharp  in  books  but  dull-edged  to  common  sense) 
all  about  the  Bigger  Mizzouryville  Company  and 
that  had  been  enough  to  inform  any  intelligent 
man  with  the  instincts  of  a  wild  bear  that  he'd 
find  money  in  the  tree. 

I  have  been  asked  why  I  didn't  raise  the  hue 
and  cry  on  first  seeing  Flitterfled.  Here  is  my 
reason  for  all  men  to  take  or  leave,  as  it  suits 
them:  knowing  our  citizens  had  been  robbed  of 
their  money  with  no  hope  of  recovery,  I  preferred 
having  it  carried  off  by  a  bandit  professed. 

There  we  stood  waiting,   Cadwitch  afraid  to 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         253 

call  for  help  and  I  not  wanting  help  to  come,  when 
suddenly  an  explosion  of  dynamite  from  the  di- 
rection of  the  butcher-shop  told  its  story  in  big 
print.  It  broke  the  glass  in  Laclede's  Grocery, 
and  brought  Jim  Bob  with  a  scream  out  from 
under  the  Bench,  which  was  the  last  I  saw  of  him 
that  night.  Cadwitch  Beam  sprinted  down  the  al- 
ley after  his  posse.  Shots  rang  from  the  next 
street  and  there  was  a  cry  of  pain.  Around  the 
corner,  mad  with  fright,  came  Selwyn's  horse,  and 
I  stood  ready  for  him,  my  two-hundred-odd 
pounds  towering  like  a  high  rock  in  his  current. 
Be  my  metaphor  mixed,  be  it  assorted,  my  pur- 
pose was  single — and  under  my  grip  that  snorting 
roan  was  no  more  than  a  dog  in  its  collar. 

Before  I  could  spring  into  the  buggy,  the  shoot- 
ing stopped.  I  drove  around  the  corner,  raking 
the  four  points  with  one  gattling-gun  glance,  but 
nothing  was  to  be  seen  alive  save  Curd's  head 
thrust  over  the  eaves  of  the  Mizzouryville  Bank 
roof,  his  arm  signalling  me  to  look  toward  the 
outside  stairs  of  the  meat  market.  Thither  I 
drove,  the  horse  prancing  with  fright. 

On  the  pavement  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  lay  a 
man's  body  out  of  the  moonlight,  but  I  could 
make  out  the  blood  that  trickled  across  the  planks 


254        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

to  the  gutter.  The  face  was  turned  away,  but 
there  was  no  mistaking  Octavius  Selwyn.  Be- 
side him  lay  a  carpetbag.  It  was  empty. 

I  called  to  Curd  Tooterflail,  peeping  cautiously 
from  his  elevation:  "Come  down,  you  old  fool, 
and  stop  his  bleeding  while  I  get  the  doctor." 
And  not  waiting  to  make  sure  whether  Selwyn 
were  dead  or  alive,  or  if  Curd  would  obey,  I  put 
whip  to  the  roan. 

Down  Osage  Street  I  plunged,  I  praying  that 
I  might  find  the  doctor  sober  than  whom,  if  sober, 
no  man  is  better  in  an  emergency,  I  care  not 
how  many  diplomas  holding,  nor  how  many 
trained  nurses  held  in  leash.  I  had  rounded  into 
Main  Street  where  it  cuts  Locust  to  slide  down 
past  the  power  house,  when  a  horseman  came 
plunging  up  the  steep  in  the  full  glare  of  the  moon, 
almost  running  into  me.  He  had  a  six-shooter 
in  one  hand  and  a  heavy  bag  in  the  other — and 
his  bridle-reins  were  between  his  teeth. 

As  he  swept  by  like  the  wind,  I  yelled,  "Have 
you  got  it,  Giles?" 

He,  looking  back  over  his  shoulder,  and  seeing 
an  old  play-fellow,  began  to  smile.  But  before 
his  smile  could  reach  from  one  corner  of  his 
mouth  to  the  other  (that  being  always  his  fash- 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         255 

ion  of  mirth)  he  was  out  of  sight.  It  had  been 
fifteen  years  since  we'd  met;  but  such  is  my  per- 
sonality, and  such  was  his  memory  for  a  man 
of  build,  he'd  made  no  mistake.  He  knew  my 
pistol  would  never  be  turned  against  him,  so 
bitterly  had  he  and  his  family  been  wronged  dur- 
ing the  War  for  the  sake  of  the  very  political 
convictions  that  fit  me  like  a  glove. 


XXXII 

//  Doubles  Daring  to  Believe  What  You  Hope 

I  GOT  Dr.  Mclntyre  to  Selwyn's  motionless 
form  on  the  sidewalk  where,  in  the  mean- 
time, Curd  and  others  had  been  doing  what  they 
could.  After  a  thorough  investigation,  Dr.  Mc- 
lntyre straightened  himself  up  with:  "I  give  him 
ten  minutes  to  breathe  his  last,"  very  impressive. 

Then  I  knew  Selwyn  had  a  chance  for  his  life, 
for  if  he  hadn't  he'd  have  been  pronounced  dead 
already,  our  physician  always  making  out  the  case 
worse  than  it  is  to  reap  by-and-by  a  richer  tri- 
umph. 

"I'm  glad,"  said  I,  from  a  full  heart,  "that 
Selwyn  has  this  bullet  in  his  wing  to  stop  his 
flight." 

"You  are  glad?"  cried  Doc  Snaggs,  very  hot, 
stopping  the  glass  coach  in  the  street  to  glare 
at  me — he  was  the  twin  who  had  studied  medi- 

256 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         257 

cine,  getting  nothing  out  of  it  but  the  title.  He 
was  angry  because  a  heavy  investor  in  the  New 
Railroad,  and  he  saw  no  hopes  of  his  paradise 
of  sudden  wealth  without  the  guardian  angel. 
Men  were  carefully  carrying  away  Selwyn's  mo- 
tionless form,  followed  by  the  doctor  as  master 
of  ceremonies,  grand  and  pleased. 

"You  are  glad!"  echoed  Buck  Snaggs,  the  other 
twin,  more  gifted  than  Doc,  able  to  put  into  speech 
what  stopped  dead  cold  on  the  hackman's  tongue. 
"You  are  glad  Selwyn  is  killed,  and  yet  your 
son  is  about  to  marry  the  daughter  of  Selwyn's 
wife!" 

"It's  on  Laidie's  account  that  I'm  glad,"  I  ex- 
plained, patient.  "Nothing  but  shed  blood  could 
ever  have  convinced  the  town  that  Selwyn  wasn't 
in  Giles  Flitterfled's  scheme  to  carry  off  the 
money."  And  turning  on  my  heel  I  left  them 
to  digest  my  words,  with  Selwyn's  empty  car- 
petbag serving  as  sauce  to  my  meaning. 

In  the  meantime,  the  face  of  events  had 
changed.  Before  blowing  up  the  safe,  Giles  must 
have  tied  his  horse  down  by  the  mill,  but  after 
securing  his  booty,  evidently  had  changed  his 
mind  about  escaping  toward  the  north.  Retracing 
his  steps  had  lost  him  time  and  when  he  came  out 


258        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

upon  the  south  road  leading  toward  the  Mineral 
Springs,  many  of  the  Celebration  Ball  guests  had 
already  secured  weapons. 

When  his  horse  suddenly  burst  into  the  moon- 
lighted road,  somebody  fired — no  one  ever  knew 
for  certain  who  it  was,  though  many  claimed  the 
shot.  Down  came  the  big  black  horse,  a  bullet 
in  his  foreleg.  To  the  ground  fell  Giles — but 
upon  his  feet.  All  was  like  the  quick  flashing  of 
pictures  coming  and  going  before  the  mind  could 
clearly  grasp  them — Over  the  barbed  wire  fence 
— a  crashing  through  undergrowth  of  the  deep 
woods,  the  heavy  bag  in  one  hand,  a  blazing  re- 
volver in  the  other — and  the  scared,  white  faces 
« 

of  the  men  as  they  dodged  the  bullets — and  the 
screaming  of  the  wounded  horse;  and  after  that, 
dodging  black  forms,  humped-over  close  to  the 
earth,  pursuing  in  dress  suits — the  crashing  of 
firearms,  the  scattering  of  leaves  on  the  breeze- 
less  air — and  an  uneasy  silence. 

Somewhere  in  the  woods  that  stretched  un- 
broken for  a  mile  or  two  beyond  the  Mineral 
Springs,  he  was  hiding — a  forest  in  places  sev- 
eral miles  wide,  with  Midway  Creek  winding 
throughout  its  length,  and  a  road  not  often  used 
crossing  it  at  one  point  over  a  high  red  bridge 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         259 

and,  at  another  place,  meeting  it  at  a  shallow 
ford. 

Our  townsfolk  were  in  a  frenzy.  Well  they 
knew  that  Giles  Flitterfled  had  their  New  Rail- 
road in  his  bag,  and  they  fancied — for  what  they 
hoped  they  believed — that  could  the  money  be 
restored  to  Selwyn  (who  was  no  more  dead  than 
you  or  I) ,  the  New  Railroad  would  eventually  get 
itself  transferred  from  blue  prints  to  green 
earth. 

Our  plan  of  procedure  was  as  follows:  By 
telegraph,  telephone  and  messengers  we  spread 
the  news  to  all  nearby  towns  and  school-  and 
meeting-houses,  and,  in  due  course,  had  a  line 
of  watchmen  strung  around  the  forest,  each  vil- 
lage supplying  its  volunteer  guards.  Fortunately 
the  woods  extended  into  the  next  county,  there- 
fore we  had  the  assistance  of  a  sheriff  who  knew 
black  from  white.  While  he,  capable  and  will- 
ing, guarded  the  southern  angle,  and  while  Cad- 
witch  Beam  did  as  we  told  him  (I  classed  myself 
with  my  fellows  in  this  search,  rising  or  falling 
with  the  fortunes  of  Mizzouryville),  it  seemed 
certain  we  must  soon  starve  Flitterfled  into  the 
open. 

Nor  were  we  content  with  a  still-hunt.     Al- 


26o        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

ways  there  was  a  party  of  resolute  men  exploring 
the  interior,  while  the  outer  cordon  held  itself 
taut.  These  exploring  parties  relieved  each  other 
so  that  those  desirous  of  coming  to  close  grips 
with  the  fugitive  might  always  be  fresh,  and 
each  have  his  chance  at  glory. 

But  because  we  had  never  learned  whether  or 
not  Giles  Flitterfled  was  working  single-handed, 
we  feared  to  venture  in  deep  places  except  in 
goodly  numbers,  for  if  with  him  were  three  or 
four  of  his  hardy  campaigners,  a  dozen  of  our 
desk-and-counter-men  would  be  at  great  disadvan- 
tage. 

The  night  after  the  safe-blowing,  the  passenger 
train  brought  many  strangers  to  town,  and  by 
noon  there  were  so  many  automobiles  in  the  streets 
that  we  walked  through  each  other's  yards.  Re- 
porters came  from  St.  Louis,  Kansas  City,  St.  Joe, 
Hannibal,  Springfield,  Joplin,  even  from  cities  out- 
side the  state. 

What  days  those  were  I  Life  became  a  camp- 
ing-out, a  perpetual  suspense  and  excitement. 
Some  took  lunches  from  home,  others  built  fires 
at  the  margin  of  the  forest  and  there  cooked 
what  they  could  find,  and  always  there  were  peo- 
ple sleeping  on  the  ground  by  day  and  by  night. 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         261 

Long  articles  appeared  in  city  dailies  with  pic- 
tures, some  of  them  plain  enough  to  be  made  out, 
and  the  legend  of  the  "Boy  Desperado"  was 
cooked  over  till  the  taste  was  lost — I  mean  the 
rumor  that  a  young  boy  had  been  seen  carrying 
food  into  the  forest  to  keep  alive  the  highway- 
man. Once  a  watchman,  waking  from  deep  slum- 
ber, found  in  his  pocket  a  missive  signed  "Giles 
F."  couched  in  language  such  as  may  not  be  put 
into  a  book,  though  it  was  never  yet  poured  into 
a  man's  ear  that  it  did  not  arouse  the  most  lively 
and  pleasing  emotions.  But  I  cannot  reproduce 
that  letter  here — let  not  my  pen  halt  with  any 
such  purpose. 

Several  times,  exploring  parties  found  where 
the  fugitive  had  eaten,  and,  to  judge  from  odds 
and  ends  of  mince  and  pumpkin  pies,  had  fared 
sumptuously.  Had  the  "Boy  Desperado"  actu- 
ally a  place  in  reality?  I  could  never  find  any 
one  who  had  seen  him — all  was  hearsay.  But 
somebody,  whether  boy  or  man,  must  be  slipping 
through  the  lines,  causing  us  cruel  loss  of  time 
and  sleep,  otherwise  the  highwayman  would  be 
making  a  dash  for  freedom,  since  he  was  no  man 
to  live  off  redhaws,  pawpaws,  blackhaws  and  the 
like. 


262        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

It  was  a  Saturday  night  when  my  turn  came 
to  venture  with  a  search-party  into  the  heart  of 
the  forest — for  I  had  held  back,  not  wishing  to 
be  the  man  to  lay  hands  upon  Giles  Flitterfled. 
Yet  I  was  resolute  to  do  my  duty  by  my  town 
if  he  crossed  my  path,  and  William  felt  as  I  did. 
We  were  sure  he  had  not  escaped,  and  it  seemed 
certain  that  at  the  end  of  the  week  he  must  be 
a  good  deal  weakened  by  the  strain  and  his  priva- 
tions. 

"Let's  hope  for  the  best,"  I  whispered  to 
William,  as  we  joined  the  party,  "and  that  is, 
that  he  fall  not  into  our  hands." 


XXXIII 

Better  Unite  Under  a  Poor  Leader  Than  Follow 
a  Dozen  Wise  Counsels 

AS  we  slipped  into  the  woods,  William  and 
I  formed  the  compact  to  keep  close  together 
in  case  of  a  charge  from  the  enemy — his  number 
unknown.  We  were  for  taking  Giles  Flitterfled 
alive  and,  if  possible,  unharmed,  and  with  us  in 
this  intention  stood  Lane  Laclede  and  Curd 
Tooterflail  and  our  sheriff.  On  the  other  hand, 
Richard  Purly  was  blood-thirsty  because  his  sal- 
ary as  secretary  of  the  Bigger  Mizzouryville 
Company  (very  handsome — in  prospect)  had 
been  bagged;  and  almost  as  fierce  was  Lancaster 
Overstreet,  the  company's  lawyer.  Pern  Hoochins 
spoke  fair  on  both  sides,  telling  me  Giles  should 
be  spared  for  his  political  integrity,  and  whis- 
pering to  Purly  that  he  should  be  shot  down  on 
sight;  but  from  what  he  said,  you  could  never 

263 


264        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

rightly  know  where  Pern  stood,  though  in  action 
I  never  yet  failed  to  find  him  on  the  wrong  side. 

"I'm  for  shooting  him  like  a  dog,"  Buck  Snaggs 
muttered  as  we  crawled  under  the  bushes  off  the 
main  road.  And  his  twin  who  was  but  his  echo, 
his  view  of  life  having  been  constricted  by  his 
narrow  scene  of  daily  action — the  driver's  seat 
on  the  village  hack — this  twin,  Doc  Snaggs, 
growled,  "Shoot  him  like  a  dog!" 

Whereupon,  "Halt!"  whispers  Cadwitch  Beam. 
And  after  we  had  drawn  about  him  in  a  circle, 
there  was  a  low-voiced  but  violent  argument 
as  to  how  we  should  use  Giles  Flitterfled  when 
captured.  We  were  twelve  men,  all  told,  two 
of  them  non-committal — Jim  Bob  by  nature, 
and  Dr.  Mclntyre  by  profession.  Reason  pre- 
vailed, for  if  we  did  not  obey  our  sheriff,  all  would 
be  at  cross  purposes,  however  poor  our  leader. 
And  a  poorer  than  Cad  Beam,  where  could  one 
be  found? 

Having  pledged  ourselves  to  take  Flitterfled  un- 
scratched  if  possible,  we  plunged  deeper  into  the 
wilderness,  making  toward  the  spot  where  had 
last  been  found  remnants  of  the  outlaw's  feast. 
All  about  the  lonely  spot  we  prowled  and  sniffed 
with  no  better  idea  of  which  way  to  turn  than 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         265 

the  high-priced  bloodhounds  when  brought  down 
on  the  Sunday  night  accommodation  to  dabble 
their  paws  in  Midway  Creek,  then  to  be  taken 
back  to  Jefferson  City,  well-fed  and  sleek  as  fire- 
side cats. 

Stretching  out,  Indian  file,  we  worked  south- 
ward, examining  every  bush  and  tree  by  the  way, 
quick-motioned  because  the  moon  would  soon  be 
up  to  reveal  us  to  any  watchful  eye.  When  we 
came  to  the  big  red  bridge  we  trod  softly,  and 
several  were  already  across  when  Jim  Bob 
stopped  at  the  railing  to  peer  fixedly  at  heavy 
shadows  along  the  opposite  bank.  At  first  I  gave 
no  heed,  believing  that  if  aught  was  to  be  seen 
he  would  be  the  last  to  lay  eyes  upon  it.  But 
as  I  came  up,  he  plucked  my  sleeve — 

"Look!"  he  whispered;  "what's  that  at  the 
edge  of  the  water?" 

So  dense  was  the  wood  on  either  side  of  the 
bridge,  we  could  hardly  see  each  other,  much  less 
distinguish  objects  down  below.  Midway  Creek 
is  never  clear,  and  for  weeks  it  had  been  mud- 
died and  thickened  from  rains  washing  our  rich 
farmlands;  and  yet  I  fancied  something  blacker 
than  the  overhanging  grasses  and  pawpaw  bushes 
was  pointed  out  by  the  old  man's  shaking  finger. 


266        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

"What  do  you  take  it  to  be?"  he  asked  under 
his  breath. 

"A  skiff,"  I  answered— "the  skiff."  For  there 
is  only  one  boat  on  Midway  Creek,  and  it's  never 
used  save  in  times  of  picnics,  the  balance  of  the 
year  finding  it  tied  up  to  whatever  tree  came 
handiest  to  the  last  disembarking  couple. 

By  this  time,  three  or  four  had  gathered  at 
the  railing;  but  those  in  front,  hearing  nothing, 
went  on  their  way,  supposing  us  at  their  heels. 

"It's  moving,"  William  whispered.  "You  fel- 
lows stand  back,  or  you'll  be  seen." 

"It's  nothing  but  a  shadow,"  Lanky  Overstreet 
declared.  "Just  a  shadow,  and  we're  losing  time 
— stand  back,  Uncle  Jim  Bob,  or  you'll  fall  over." 

"I'll  not  fall  over  nothing,"  Jim  Bob  hissed, 
so  puffed  up  at  having  seen  something  first,  that 
he  was  like  to  burst.  "Shadow — your  grand- 
father! I  tell  you  it's  a-moving.  It's  creeping 
right  under  the  bridge.  What  did  I  tell 
you " 

Then  he  gave  a  curdling  shriek.  He  has  al- 
ways declared  that  one  of  us  gave  him  a  push 
while  he  leaned  over  the  railing;  but  if  so,  some- 
body lied.  In  my  opinion,  he  was  so  eager  to 
discover  his  America  while  we  were  still  crying 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         267 

that  there  was  no  hope  of  land,  that  he  leaned 
too  much  of  his  physical  man  on  the  prop  of 
his  ambition.  At  any  rate,  over  he  went,  heels 
up, — a  drop  of  more  than  twenty  feet  into  a 
stream  so  shallow  that  if  the  bottom  didn't  fall 
out  of  the  creek  his  head  certainly  cushioned  itself 
in  oozy  mud. 

Now  was  the  time  for  quick  action — across  the 
bridge  we  dashed,  no  one  for  a  moment  deeming 
that  Jim  Bob  could  get  out  of  his  predicament 
unaided.  Those  who  had  gone  serenely  on  ahead 
were  petrified  by  the  shriek,  the  splash,  and  the 
thud  of  our  boots  across  the  rattling  planks.  Back 
they  came,  their  tongues  bristling  with  questions, 
and  no  man  with  time  to  give  answers.  And 
when  they  saw  us  plunging  down  the  bank  which 
at  that  place  is  as  steep  as  a  barn  roof,  they  bared 
their  gums  in  a  sort  of  panic  of  curiosity. 

All  through  that  part  of  the  county  I  had  coon- 
hunted  as  a  youth,  an  ax  over  my  shoulder,  dogs 
running  before,  and  in  my  pocket  a  big  red  onion 
with  plenty  of  salt.  Therefore,  I  slid  over  the 
upper  ridge  of  the  bank  as  a  sailor  who  knows 
his  chart,  and  setting  my  heels  rigid,  let  myself 
drive  hard.  But  not  as  a  youth  went  I  down 
that  long  slope  in  the  pitchy  darkness,  for  though 


268        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

my  mind  was  alert  to  every  need,  my  muscles  re- 
fused to  flex  at  will,  and  my  two-hundred-odd 
pounds  gave  me  a  momentum  confusing  to  be- 
hold. 

Skidding  along  at  a  tremendous  rate,  I,  by  great 
good  fortune,  drove  into  Curd  Tooterflail  who, 
lighter  of  foot,  had  almost  reached  the  water's 
edge,  and — Splash!  into  the  creek  I  sent  him, 
the  bluffs  echoing  back  his  frantic  cries,  unseemly, 
yet  cogent  enough.  I,  like  a  great  ship  driven 
upon  a  sandbar,  stopped  short,  quivering  from 
beam  to  stern — while  from  above  came  fresh  de- 
mands for  an  explanation  of  what  was  going  for- 
ward. 

Out  of  the  blackness  between  the  banks  came 
a  ringing,  sonorous  voice — "Throw  'em  in  one 
at  a  time,  boys,  one  at  a  time!" 

Straining  my  eyes,  I  made  out  the  skiff  in  mid- 
stream, and  the  pale  blur  of  a  man's  face. 

"Giles  Flitterfled!"  shouted  Cadwitch  Beam. 
"I  know  you  by  your  voice,  and  as  sheriff  of 
this  county  I  call  on  you  to  come  ashore  and  sur- 
render." 

To  which  I  added,  reasoning,  "There  are 
twelve  of  us,  Giles;  you  can't  escape;  and  we 
don't  want  to  do  you  any  harm." 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         269 

Curd  cried  out,  choking,  "Give  me  a  hand, 
somebody.  First  thing  you  know,  I'll  be  drown- 
ing here." 

Richard  Purly  blustered,  "You  can't  get  away, 
Flitterfled.  We've  got  you  at  last!" 

"Boys,"  came  the  deep  bass  voice,  "you  think 
so.  But  remember  that  chap  who  fell  off  the 
bridge;  well,  I'm  holding  him  right  across  my 
breast,  and  if  you  shoot  you'll  murder  your  friend. 
Stick  Attum,  if  I  were  you,  I'd  pull  that  wet  fly 
out  of  the  water  that's  buzzing  over  there  at 
the  edge." 

"Yes,  pull  me  out,"  chattered  Curd.  I  did  it;  I 
owed  him  that  much. 

"Now,  boys,"  said  Giles,  calm  and  deliberate, 
"I'll  not  hide  from  you  that  this  pard  is  in  a  bad 
way.  Nothing'll  save  him  but  rolling  on  the 
ground,  and  that  mighty  quick.  I'll  row  him  to 
shore  if  you  fellows  agree  to  let  me  go  free.  And 
if  you  hesitate  he's  going  to  strangle  to  death." 

The  others  were  struck  dumb.  I  asked  him  if 
he'd  set  his  liberty  against  a  human  life. 

"If  this  is  murder,"  he  said,  "you  boys  are 
the  murderers.  There's  still  time  to  save  his  life, 
and  I  guess  it's  something  that  I'm  willing  to 
trust  to  your  word  of  honor." 


270        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

"We  won't  harm  a  hair  of  your  head,"  called 
Buck  Snaggs,  desperate.  "Bring  him  ashore. 
We'll  give  you  a  good  start,  then  catch  you 
again." 

Doc  Snaggs  echoed,  "Give  you  a  good  start — 
catch  you  again !" 

"Let  the  sheriff  swear  for  his  men,"  Giles  stipu- 
lated. 

It  was  well  he  landed  when  he  did,  for  Jim 
Bob  was  almost  gone.  I  would  not  have  believed 
a  man  could  swallow  so  much  water,  though  if 
any  man,  Jim  Bob,  certainly.  We  worked  with 
him  long  and  desperate,  taking  turn  about,  and 
Giles  made  one  of  us,  toiling  like  a  trooper.  At 
last  we  were  rewarded  by  seeing  him  take  up  re- 
luctantly the  burden  of  life  he'd  never  known  how 
to  adjust  to  his  shoulders. 

As  soon  as  Jim  Bob  could  be  propped  against 
a  tree,  I  whispered  Giles  to  go,  for  it  seemed 
to  me  he  had  a  trust  too  great  in  his  fellow  man. 
Purly  was  glaring  at  him  in  a  cold  fury:  suddenly 
he  snarled — "Where  have  you  hid  that  money?" 

Flitterfled  just  laughed,  and  said,  his  whiskers 
quivering  with  enjoyment,  "Jim  Bob  always  did 
strike  a  rock  or  something  when  he  went  diving. 
That  bridge  was  too  high  for  him." 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        271 

"Yes,"  sounded  Jim  Bob's  feeble  voice,  "I  was 
never  no  figure  at  a  man's  work.  I'm  too  slow." 

"Take  him  back  home,  boys,"  Giles  urged, 
"or  he  won't  last — seventy  years  old,  isn't  he?" 

"Only  sixty-five,"  Jim  Bob  protested,  weak  and 
watery,  "but  mighty  harrowing  years." 

Then  Pem  Hoochin  and  Dr.  Mclntyre  helped 
him  across  the  bridge  and  down  the  road  to  town, 
while  Curd  followed  in  his  dripping  clothes.  The 
moon  was  rising  as  we  stood  watching  them  defile 
around  the  curved  bluff,  the  first  beams  painting 
their  heads  and  shoulders  with  a  broad  white 
brush.  When  they  were  gone,  we  stood  very 
still  for  a  few  moments,  while  something  told  me 
that  Giles  had  waited  too  long,  and  that  trouble 
was  ahead. 


XXXIV 

When  a  Man  Is  Wedded  to  Sorrow,  Good  Luck 
Seems  a  Temptation  to  Unfaithfulness 

STICK" — Giles  stepped  backward,  hands  in 
pockets,  as  if  to  make  a  dash  for  it — "do 
you  remember  about  Curd  and  the  red  rooster?" 

William  called  out,  "You  ought  to  hear  father 
tell  that  story!" 

Giles  looked  at  me  hard,  moving  backward  very 
slowly,  though  I  motioned  him  to  hurry.  "Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me,  Stick  Attum,  that  you're 
the  father  of  this  fine  strapping  fellow?"  Then 
his  voice  grew  wistful:  "Mine  has  been  the  devil's 
own  life — but  there's  no  going  back,  boys,  there's 
no  going  back." 

He  was  about  twenty  feet  away,  near  the  top 
of  the  bank  when  Purly,  who  had  edged  away 
from  us,  suddenly  covered  him  with  his  gun,  at 
the  same  time  giving  a  backward  spring,  to  gain 

272 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         273 

the  advantage  of  the  bridge's  elevation.  "If  you 
take  your  hands  out  of  your  pockets,"  he  grated, 
"you're  a  dead  man.  Now  tell  where  that  money's 
hid  or  I'll  shoot — not  to  kill,  but  to  wing  you  for 
life." 

I'll  never  forget  the  contempt  in  Giles's  eyes, 
but  he  knew  he  faced  a  desperate  man,  and  stood 
very  still,  saying,  deep  and  scornful,  "I  guess 
you  wasn't  raised  in  this  part  of  the  United 
States!" 

Purly  was  crazed  by  the  loss  of  rich  prospects, 
but  even  so,  this  stab  touched  him  to  the  quick, 
and  he  muttered,  "A  forced  promise  isn't  bind- 
ing." Then  he  shouted,  "Where's  that  money? 

Quick,  or "  And  no  one  doubted  he  would 

shoot. 

With  my  ideas  blown  about  in  a  tempest,  I 
tried  to  gather  together  the  threads  of  reason 
to  hem  them  around  the  border  with  the  old  sub- 
stantial binding  of  time  and  place — and  all  in  a 
daze  I  started  for  Purly  with  words  that  must 
have  covered  another  man  with  shame ;  but  I  think 
he'd  have  gone  naked  all  his  life  before  he'd  have 
put  on  that  garment. 

"Let  'em  fight  it  out,"  Buck  Snaggs  muttered 
and  Doc  echoed  the  words,  jumping  directly  in 


274        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

my  path.  Purly,  seeing  me  checked,  called  to 
Giles — 

"Take  your  choice:  where's  the  money — or  a 
bullet  through  your  leg!"  His  eyes  grew  wilder 
— "I'll  give  you  until  I  count  three — and  I'm 
counting  now;  and  this  is  one"  He  was  not  only 
desperate — he  was  afraid;  and  it's  the  coward 
with  power  in  his  hand  who  is  most  to  be  feared. 

I  hated  to  blacken  Doc  Snaggs's  eye — he  was, 
as  I  have  said,  only  his  brother's  echo;  but  of 
course  when  an  echo  is  physical  and  gets  in  the 
way,  it  must  be  removed  by  physical  means.  He 
was  clinging  about  my  middle,  but  I  shed  him  like 
a  feather,  just  as  Purly  roared — 

"And  this  is  two,  with  just  one  more  coming!" 

I  stopped  stock  still  above  the  prostrate  form 
of  Doc,  holding  my  breath,  knowing  that  if  I 
made  one  move  forward  Purly  would  cry 
"Three!"  and  shoot  down  the  outlaw.  There  was 
no  time  to  form  a  plan.  My  thought-tree  was 
heavy  and  sodden  as  if  overgrown  with  sappy 
watersprouts;  and  as  for  the  rest  of  the  company, 
they  wouldn't  have  interfered  if  they  could. 

With  one  exception — for  that  one  was  about  to 
show  us  a  strange  thing.  For  just  as  Purly,  with 
murder  in  his  eye,  was  about  to  cry  his  fatal  num- 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         275 

her,  Lane  Laclede,  by  a  wonderful  leap,  put  him- 
self between  the  outlaw  and  danger,  and  stood 
looking  at  Purly  just  as  calm  and  indifferent  as 
if  behind  his  counter,  except  for  heavy  breathing 
— for  the  jump  had  been  the  limit  of  his  strength 
and  skill.  You'd  have  thought  he'd  always  been 
standing  right  there,  looking  into  the  barrel  of 
Purly's  gun  in  idle  curiosity.  And  to  Giles,  he 
said,  brief  and  dry — "Better  hide  out,  partner." 

"Three!"  yelled  Purly.  He  couldn't  have  meant 
to  shoot  Laclede,  yet  he  might  have  known  the 
bullet  would  reach  the  highwayman  only  through 
Laclede's  body.  I  suppose  he  didn't  reason  at 
all — just  saw  red  and  fired.  And  it  seemed  to 
me  I  had  never  heard  so  loud  a  report. 

"Bang!"  went  the  weapon,  and  crash!  went 
Giles's  body  as  he  threw  himself  backward,  heels 
over  head.  Down  the  embankment  into  the  black 
gulf  of  the  ravine — splash!  into  the  water — then 
silence  as  long  as  it  takes  a  man  to  draw  a  good 
breath;  and  when  the  smoke  cleared  away,  we 
saw  Laclede  standing  with  his  hand  pressed  to 
his  heart. 

Purly,  thinking  he  was  holding  back  the  life- 
blood,  threw  down  his  gun  with  a  cry  of  horror, 
but  Laclede,  with  that  sort  of  smile  that  ban- 


276        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

ishes  smiles  from  the  faces  of  others,  drawled, 
"You  didn't  touch  me,  old  man.  I  was  just  feel- 
ing a — a  sort  of  inward  pain." 

We  were  so  relieved  at  finding  him  unhurt,  but 
so  little  used  to  showing  emotion  of  the  softer 
sort,  that  we  didn't  know  which  way  to  look, 
and  were  mighty  relieved  when  Cadwitch  shouted 
— "To  the  chase,  boys!  We've  given  Giles  his 
start,  and  that's  all  we  promised." 

Laclede  has  always  been  blamed  by  some  for 
saving  Flitterfled  at  the  expense  of  the  town's 
money,  but  of  his  critics  I  am  not  one ;  and  I  think 
he  never  cared  two  straws  for  the  censure.  For 
the  sheriff  had  put  us  on  our  honor.  And  honor 
comes  first,  and  after  that  the  praise  or  blame 
of  men. 

As  we  again  took  up  the  search,  finding  myself 
with  William  close  beside  Laclede,  I  said,  by 
way  of  showing  my  approval  of  his  action,  at  the 
same  time  being  careful  not  to  make  my  praise 
too  sweet  for  a  strong  man's  appetite:  "They 
didn't  get  you  that  time,  Laniel" 

He  looked  into  my  eyes,  and  the  moonlight 
showed  wrinkles  on  his  face  I'd  never  noticed 
before. 

"No  such  luck,"  was  all  he  said. 


XXXV 

A  Man  Is  Not  Disarmed  so  Long  as  He  Has  a 
Winning  Tongue 

ABOUT  half  an  hour  after  Flitterfled's 
escape,  finding  a  chance  to  speak  to  William 
and  Lane  Laclede  apart  from  the  others,  I  gave 
them  what  for  some  time  had  been  working  in 
my  mind.  I  believed  the  outlaw  would  never 
have  been  found  in  that  skiff  except  to  bring  down 
provisions  from  some  outer  point  to  his  retreat; 
and  as  this  rendezvous  must  be  upstream,  I  sug- 
gested that  we  search  the  hills,  where  Midway 
Creek  enters  Midway  Forest,  for  traces  of  the 
"Boy  Desperado."  If  we  could  capture  that  mys- 
terious enemy  to  the  town's  peace,  and  thus  cut 
off  the  bandit's  food  supply,  we  would  soon  have 
him  in  our  net. 

Rising  to  my  idea,  and  praising  it,  as  having 
none  of  their  own  so  good,  they  kept  close  to 

277 


278        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

my  heels  and  in  no  great  time  we  had  left  the 
other  searchers  at  a  distance.  In  the  course  of 
an  hour  we  reached  the  rough  country  and  there 
found  the  stream  unguarded,  it  being  held  im- 
possible that  Flitterfled  should  seek  escape  in  a 
water-soaked  boat  by  a  channel  hardly  deep 
enough  to  keep  it  off  the  bottom.  As  the  moon 
was  too  bright  for  us  to  hope  to  find  our  quarry 
in  the  open  places,  we,  with  due  caution,  began 
beating  among  the  hills. 

Never  have  I  known  one  of  my  ideas  to  be  more 
signally  justified;  for  hardly  had  we  begun  to 
weary  of  the  search  when  William  gave  a  cry 
of  triumph,  dived  into  a  hollow  or  small  cave 
time  had  scooped  from  a  hillside,  and  dragged 
forth  the  fugitive  by  a  wildly  resisting  leg. 

"I've  got  him,"  he  called,  and  sat  down  upon 
the  squirming  form  as  cool  and  solid  as  a  rock, 
paying  no  manner  of  attention  to  the  groans  and 
gasps  of  his  prisoner. 

Laclede  and  I  ran  up;  and  at  the  smothered 
cries  of  "You're  killing  me!"  we  hoisted  William 
to  his  feet,  for  the  captive  was  puny  and  with- 
out wind,  a  mere  smooth-faced  lad.  To  judge 
by  his  besmeared  and  painted  face  and  clay-dyed 
hands  and  wrists,  he  was  of  Indian  breed.  But 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         279 

I  set  him  down — and  so  declared — as  a  romantic 
schoolboy  deeply  read  in  such  adventurous  books 
as  litter  my  smokehouse,  trying  to  carry  out  a  role 
that  sounds  easy  enough  on  printed  page.  He 
wore  a  shapeless  gray  hat  which  was  bound  se- 
curely to  his  head  by  a  red  bandana,  as  if  he 
sought  the  picturesque,  but  balked  at  sticking 
feathers  in  his  locks. 

"Now,"  says  William,  after  a  brief  breathing 
spell,  "give  an  account  of  yourself  in  double  quick 
time,  or  I'll  use  you  for  a  cushion  till  the  sheriff 
brings  his  handcuffs."  And  he  gripped  him  by 
the  arm  till  he  whined  from  pain.  "Where  are 
you  from?" 

"Higginsville,"  he  piped. 

"Why  did  you  run  off  from  school  to  disguise 
yourself  in  this  silly  way?" 

"I  heard  Giles  Flitterfled  was  being  starved 
to  death." 

"And  what  of  that?  What  is  he  to  you,  or  you 
to  him?" 

The  answer  came  in  firmer  tone,  and  prompt 
enough:  "I  admire  him — I  tell  you  he's  a  brave 
man." 

"Brave  enough;  but  don't  you  know  he's  a  rob- 
ber with  a  price  set  on  his  head?" 


280        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

The  youth  retorted,  ready  and  impudent, 
"That  price'll  never  have  to  be  paid!" 

"How  many  men  are  hiding  with  him  in  the 
woods?" 

"He's  all  alone." 

"How  many  are  with  you?" 

"I'm  alone,  too." 

"Good!  Then  we'll  clap  you  in  jail  and  see  if 
the  birds  will  feed  him,"  said  I,  taking  a  part. 
"Lanie,  you  and  William  go  get  the  sheriff,  and 
while  you're  gone  I'll  keep  watch  over  this  babe- 
in-the-wood." 

After  a  brief  discussion  as  to  the  probable 
whereabouts  of  Cadwitch  Beam  and  his  party, 
Laclede  struck  east,  advising  William  to  try  the 
contrary  direction.  But  after  the  other  was  out 
of  sight,  William  lingered,  uneasy. 

"Father,  that  kid  is  as  slippery  as  an  eel.  I 
don't  believe  I'll  more  than  get  my  back  turned 
before  he'll  slide  from  between  your  fingers.  He'll 
beg,  and  you'll  let  him  go." 

I  gave  him  my  superior  laugh  but  he  wasn't  con- 
vinced. 

"Get  back  into  that  hole,"  he  ordered  our  pris- 
oner, motioning  toward  the  little  cave;  and  as  the 
youth  hesitated,  he  gave  him  a  shove  that  sent 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         261 

him  sprawling.  Then  to  give  satisfaction^  I  sat 
down  before  the  opening,  blocking  it  up  with  my 
notable  bulk. 

Still  he  lingered,  and  as  his  mind,  relieved  'at 
sight  of  my  durability,  no  longer  turned  on  a  band 
of  practical  direction,  it  went  whirring  round  and 
round,  aimless  and  distracting. 

"Father,"  he  said,  very  gloomy,  "when  Lane 
Laclede  jumped  between  Dick  Purly  and  Giles 
Flitterfled,  he  hoped  a  bullet  would  put  an  end 
to  him.  He  wanted  to  die.  There  are  no  two 
ways  about  it — he  wanted  to  die!" 

I  said  nothing.    The  thing  was  too  obvious. 

He  started  away,  after  standing  with  his  eyes 
on  the  ground — the  prisoner  all  forgotten — and 
as  he  went  I  heard  him  say  to  himself  in  a  hol- 
low voice,  "I  know  just  how  he  felt." 

I  wasn't  looking  for  that.  The  words  seemed 
to  run  right  through  me,  leaving  a  sort  of  in- 
ward bleeding,  and  after  his  footsteps  in  the  leaves 
had  died  away,  I  don't  know  how  long  it  was,  I 
came  to  myself  to  find  my  hand  doubled  up  and 
pressed  against  my  heart. 

Then  I  heard  the  prisoner's  squeaky  voice — 
"You're  Stick  Attum,  aren't  you?" 

I  didn't  give  him  a  syllable. 


282        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

He  said,  plaintive,  "Somebody  in  Higginsville 
thinks  a  lot  of  you!" 

I  gave  a  great  start  and  said  before  I  thought, 
"You're  not  Gussie  Meade's  son,  I  suppose?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  who  I  am,  it  would  spoil  my 
mystery.  I  want  to  be  known  always  as  the  Boy 
Desperado.  But  there's  somebody  in  Higgins- 
ville who  thinks  you're  just  about  all  right." 
Something  in  his  voice  struck  on  my  memory- 
strings,  making  pleasant  harmony. 

"You  are  Gussie  Meade's  son,"  I  declared,  and 
for  answer  got — 

"I  don't  say  I'm  not,  sir;  but  I  want  to  stay 
a  mystery."  While  I  was  trying  to  suit  this  new 
morsel  to  my  palate,  he  went  on : 

"If  you'll  let  me  go  just  this  once,  I'll  never 
run  away  from  school  again,  or  read  books  to 
make  me  wicked,  or  try  to  be  mysterious." 

"It's  not  to  be  thought  of,"  I  declared  very 
firm.  And  after  he  had  begged  and  begged,  I 
was  as  adamant.  "I  can't  let  you  go — say  not 
another  word — What  would  William  think?" 

"I'll  promise  by  anything  you  please,"  he 
wheedled,  "never  to  interfere  after  to-night  to 
help  Giles  Flitterfled  in  any  way.  I'll  admit  I've 
been  bringing  him  things  to  eat — he  would  row 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         283 

up  here  every  night  to  get  the  basket.  But  I'll 
never  do  it  again,  never.  Stick  Attum " 

"No!"  I  cried  out  as  loud  and  sharp  as  a  pistol- 
shot. 

He  jumped  and  then  began  to  sob  and  moan 
exactly  like  a  girl.  It  brought  up  before  me  the 
time  when  Gussie  Meade  had  wept  her  heart  out 
upon  my  bosom  because  Mrs.  Patty  would  not 
hear  to  our  marriage.  Gussie  was  nothing  to 
me  now,  but  the  memory  of  her  girlhood  was 
still  dear,  and  that  her  son,  though  a  weakling, 
should  suffer  at  my  hands  was  not  to  be  borne. 

"No,  he  didn't  escape,"  I  told  William  when 
he  came  with  the  sheriff  and  half  a  dozen  men. 
"I  gave  him  his  parole.  He's  done  all  the  harm 
he's  going  to  do,  and  he'd  better  be  back  at  school 
than  pining  away  in  the  jail  under  the  courthouse. 
Of  course,  if  we  catch  him  at  it  again,  we'll  show 
him  no  mercy." 

"I  looked  for  this,"  William  remarked  rather 
dully,  as  if  he  didn't  greatly  care  one  way  or  the 
other;  and  as  he  failed  to  specify  what  it  was 
he  had  looked  for,  I  was  content  to  hold  my 
peace.  As  for  Sheriff  Cadwitch  Beam,  he  knew 
better  than  to  say  anything. 


XXXVI 

Man  Has  Never  Understood  Woman;  She  Was 
First  to  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  and  She  Picked 
Out  the  Apple  for  Him  to  Eat 

IT  was  between  two  and  three  in  the  morning 
when,  leaving  William  to  spend  the  rest  of 
the  night  at  the  margin  of  the  woods,  I  tramped 
homeward.  I  hadn't  been  in  bed  for  three  days 
and  nights,  and  I  was  come  to  an  age  when  my 
elasticity  was  hard  tried  by  a  horse  blanket  on 
the  ground;  I  was  pretty  well  exhausted,  too,  by 
deep  thinking,  so  was  glad  to  meet  not  so  much 
as  a  dog  on  the  way,  and  to  see  not  a  light  at 
any  window,  and  to  hear  not  so  much  as  the 
crowing  of  a  cock,  insomuch  that  I  had  the  feel- 
ing that  there  was  nothing  moving  in  the  world 
except  myself  going  through  the  dead  moon- 
light. 

But  just  as  I  reached  the  brow  of  the  hill  that 
284 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         285 

runs  down  past  the  railroad  to  the  sawmill,  I 
heard  something  that  hadn't  sounded  in  the  old 
town  for  more  than  fifteen  years;  and  I  stopped 
as  still  as  a  mouse,  wondering  if  I  were  in  a  white 
dream  like  the  rest  of  the  world.  But  no.  I've 
heard  hundreds  of  bells  but  none  of  them  has 
the  tone  of  the  one  that  used  to  call  me  in  at 
recess  with  the  ball-game  at  its  hottest,  and  I, 
like-enough,  at  the  bat.  What  could  this  ringing 
of  the  College  bell  signify? 

Without  waiting  longer  to  come  to  grips  with 
the  mystery  with  my  mind,  I  hurried  to  take  my 
body  to  it,  feeling  just  then  as  if  I  could  have 
stayed  awake  a  thousand  years.  Down  the  slope 
and  along  the  track  I  darted — then  up  the  College 
stiles  and  along  the  walk  between  the  maple  rows 
to  the  front  porch — I'd  have  gone  right  on  into 
the  house  if  some  one  sitting  on  the  stone  step 
hadn't  started  up  to  face  me.  It  was  Dahlia  Glea- 
son  with  the  moonlight  on  her  pretty,  sad  face 
and  young  brown  hair. 

The  bell  had  by  this  time  stopped  ringing,  and, 
a  good  deal  eased  by  her  calmness,  I  asked,  doubt- 
ful, "Was  there  a  fire?" 

"Yes — yes,"  she  said  in  some  confusion,  "it — 
everything's  all  right." 


286        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

I  stared  at  her,  fanning  myself  with  my  straw 
hat,  for  I  was  greatly  heated.  "You're  all  dressed 
up,"  I  commented.  "Was  it  you  who  rang  the 
bell,  or  one  of  the  old  maid  sisters  who  live  here? 
And  did  they  station  you  on  the  step  to  keep 
people  away?  Was  it  a  false  alarm?  What 
does  it  all  mean,  Dahlia?" 

"It  was — yes,  it  was  one  of  them."  She  stood 
twisting  her  skirt  between  her  fingers  exactly  as 
she  used  to  do  in  her  little-girl-days  when  she 
wanted  something  and  was  too  bashful  to  ask  for 
it.  "Everything's  all  right,  Stick.  You  mustn't 
bother.  Good-night,  Stick." 

"The  same  to  you,"  said  I,  not  moving  a  foot. 

"Yes,  I  know  it's  late,"  she  kept  on  twisting  and 
untwisting  her  dress.  "But  I  couldn't  sleep.  And 
it's  so  pleasant  and  peaceful  out  here,  alone. 
Good-night,  Stick." 

"I  understand  you  want  me  to  go,"  said  I,  "and 
one  of  the  new  owners  has  already  ordered  me 
off  the  premises.  But  I've  something  to  say  to 
you,  and  I'll  say  it  now." 

Her  face  was  so  wan  and  pitiful  that  I  forgot 
all  about  the  bell.  I  was  in  the  presence  of  some- 
thing big,  something  that  took  hold  of  me,  that 
dragged  me  out  of  the  beaten  paths  of  my  daily 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         287 

thinking.  "Look  here,  Dahlia,"  I  plunged  into 
it,  blind,  "I've  always  felt  like  a  father  to  you,  and 
always  shall,  so  speak  with  a  father's  privilege. 
You  and  Lanie  love  each  other — marry  and  be 

happy "  And  I  went  on  to  argue  that  neither 

of  them  would  ever  be  happy  unless  they  did. 
"There's  a  book  in  my  smokehouse,"  said  I,  "that 
says  it  takes  two  to  make  one  happy.  That's 
true  in  your  case,  and  in  his." 

"I  can't  talk  about  it,"  she  gave  me,  short  and 
breathless. 

"I  didn't  think,"  I  admitted,  "that  it  would  do 
because  of — you  know  why.  But  that  was  just 
a  sentiment.  This  is  a  matter  of  eternal  truth." 

"I  can't  talk  about  it "  She  was  very  pale, 

but  her  voice  was  firmer. 

I  tried  to  make  her  see  the  waste  that  would 
wreck  their  lives  if  they  kept  apart  and  at  last 
she  said  in  a  sort  of  cold  desperation  that  it  was 
mainly  because  of  her  stepdaughter — because  of 
what  Zenia  would  think. 

"She  never  liked  you,"  I  said.  "Before  Tag- 
gart  Gleason  died,  she  made  your  life  as  miser- 
able as  she  could.  And  you  can't  love  her.  Will 
you  break  Lanie's  heart  and  your  own  for  the 
opinion  of  a  woman  you've  never  respected?" 


288        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

Then  I  told  how  Lane  had  courted  death  that 
night  because  he  found  life  only  a  burden. 

She  listened  with  parted  lips  and  a  look  in  her 
eyes  that  any  man  might  have  been  proud  to  bring 
there.  I  believe  she  would  gladly  have  died  with 
him — but  she  wouldn't  live  with  him — in  the  main, 
because  of  what  Zenia  would  think! 

I  waved  my  hand  toward  the  building:  "Then 
you  prefer  staying  here  as  a  housekeeper  for 
newcomers  to  going  out  West  to  a  big  country 
as  the  wife  of  the  man  who  loves  you?" 

She  said  again  that  she  couldn't  talk  about  it,  so 
I  gave  her  good-night  and  left,  marveling  how 
one  woman  will  cut  her  life  along  the  bias  of  pub- 
lic opinion,  while  another  snaps  her  fingers  at  the 
world.  And  as  I  left  the  campus,  something 
seemed  to  rise  and  inflate  my  chest  with  a  won- 
derful sense  of  thrill  because  it  had  pleased  na- 
ture to  produce  me  as  a  man. 

I  had  reached  the  street  branching  off  to  Horse- 
shoe House  when  I  was  overtaken  by  several  men 
from  the  woods  who  had  been  sent  to  inquire 
the  meaning  of  the  bell-ringing.  "It  was  a  scare 
of  fire,"  said  I,  "which  came  to  naught."  They, 
thinking  I  held  the  facts,  returned  to  the  watchers 
satisfied.  I,  too,  was  well  content  with  my  ex- 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        289 

planation,  though,  as  it  presently  developed,  the 
ringing  of  the  College  bell  was  in  the  nature  of 
a  signal  to  Giles  Flitterfled,  which  I  might  have 
guessed  had  I  not  been  satisfied  over  the  first  the- 
ory that  strayed  through  my  mind.  This  has  been 
a  lesson  to  me,  advising  me  that  no  matter  how 
plausible  and  water-tight  a  supposition  may  ap- 
pear, if  facts  rest  on  another  bottom  that  suppo- 
sition is  worth  no  more  than  the  wildest  flight  of 
fancy. 


XXXVII 

/  Have  Never  Been  so  Thrilled  as  When  Alone 
with  Myself,  Turning  Over  a  Wonderful 
Thought 

BUT  I  soon  forgot  the  College  bell  and  Dah- 
lia's sad  case  in  thinking  about  William. 
When  a  man  with  his  wedding  day  close  at  hand 
speaks  of  death  as  William  had  spoken,  what 
could  it  mean  but  one  thing?  I'd  been  plagued  by 
wormy  doubts  before,  but  had  shed  them  off, 
spreading  my  leaves  to  a  hopeful  breeze.  But 
a  tree,  after  withstanding  a  hundred  storms,  may 
fall  at  one  lightning  flash;  and  when  my  son,  in 
referring  to  Lane  Laclcde,  had  said,  "I  know  just 
how  he  felt,"  my  heart  had  been  touched  by  fire. 
When  Horseshoe  House  came  in  sight,  I  was 
half-suffocated  by  a  vision  of  my  pillow,  so  turned 
toward  the  smokehouse  to  pick  out  a  likely  tale. 
But  feeling  myself  to  be  more  interesting  than 

290 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         291 

any  book,  I  roamed  down  the  alley  to  the  shop, 
feeling  as  strange  to  myself,  somehow,  as  if  meet- 
ing Stick  Attum  for  the  first  time. 

I  was  never  so  thrilled  in  my  life  as  at  that  mo- 
ment, just  standing  there  alone  with  myself,  turn- 
ing over  and  over  a  wonderful  thought  that  was 
spreading  its  wings  of  beauty,  forever  leaving  be- 
hind the  old  shell  of  a  doubt-grub.  I  was  so 
engrossed  that  I  never  knew  whether  or  not  there 
came  a  faint  sound  to  bring  my  mind  to  its  door 
to  look  outside  of  itself. 

At  any  rate,  I  felt  the  sudden  need  of  stealth 
and  moved  with  caution  to  the  crack  that  had  been 
\eft  at  the  front  entrance.  But  two-hundred-odd 
pounds  can't  poise  on  brittle  odds  and  ends  with- 
out a  snapping,  and  I  was  overheard;  for  a  low 
voice  called  cautiously  from  within — 

"Father?" 

At  that  I  pushed  the  door  wide  open,  -»nd  the 
moonlight  fell  upon  a  young  lad — or  so  it  seemed 
— standing  near  my  anvil,  holding  by  the  bridle  a 
horse  built  for  speed — a  horse  I  had  never  seen 
before,  his  eyes  flashing  with  mettlesome  spirit, 
his  hoof  stamping  the  ground,  impatient  to  be 
off.  Seeing  it  was  not  the  one  expected,  the 
watcher  cried  out  in  alarm. 


292        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

I  said,  soft  and  soothing,  "It's  only  Stick  At- 

tum "     And  I  closed  the  door  almost  shut, 

just  as  I  had  found  it,  and  tiptoed  away,  whisper- 
ing, "Good-night,  little  Mystery!" 

I  couldn't  stay  there — I  didn't  care  for  home— 
the  smokehouse  had  lost  its  charm;  and  of  course 
at  four  in  the  morning  all  was  still  at  Old  Set- 
tlers' Bench.     I  didn't  know  what  to  do  with  my- 
self, I  was  so  brimming  full  of  great  thoughts. 

I  said  to  myself,  "At  sun-up  let's  go  around  to 
see  Laidie  I" 


XXXVIII 

And  When  I  Looked  at  Her  I  Loved  Her  Al- 
though There  Was  a  Broom  in  Her  Hand 

AT  break  of  day,  that  is,  at  a  little  before  five 
o'clock,  I  found  myself  before  Van  Buren's 
cottage.  About  an  hour  earlier,  Sylvia  had  left 
in  a  carriage  with  her  Octavius  on  a  sort  of  lit- 
ter, meaning  to  get  him  mended  at  a  Kansas 
City  hospital,  thirty  miles  away,  and  for  that 
purpose  taking  him  in  the  cool  of  the  day.  Of 
course  I  had  known  of  the  plan  else  would  I 
never  have  gone  nigh  the  place;  now,  just 
as  I  had  expected,  I  found  the  front  gate  open 
and  the  neighbor's  chickens  getting  into  the 
yard. 

On  the  front  porch  was  Laidie's  grandfather, 
cleaned  and  starched,  for  Sylvia  had  kept  him  as 
thoroughly  polished  as  was  the  outside  of  her  own 
platter.  The  poor  old  gentleman,  like  a  ruffled 
bird,  was  stalking  about  on  his  thin  legs  to  get 

2Q3 


294        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

himself  wider  awake.  Long  had  it  been  his  habit 
to  rise  at  dawn  and  by  yawnings,  coughings  and 
groans  get  his  granddaughter  astir;  but  to  be 
ousted  out  before  the  stars  were  in  was  enough 
to  make  him  fear  a  stroke. 

Just  then,  however,  I  had  no  occasion  for 
grandfathers,  so  with  a  nod  I  went  right  on  into 
the  cottage,  finding  Laidie  in  a  little  room  built 
off  to  itself  which,  since  Sylvia's  coming,  had  gone 
by  the  name  of  "Library" — just  that;  just  "Li- 
brary," the  only  apartment  so  styled,  to  my  knowl- 
edge, in  Mizzouryville,  unless  having  some  other 
name  when  company  was  gone,  such  as  "parlor," 
or  the  like. 

Laidie  stood  at  the  window  with  the  first  ten- 
der sunbeams  flickering  through  maple  leaves  to 
laugh  on  her  hair — and  in  her  hand  there  was  a 
broom.  She  looked  surprised.  Well,  it  was  early 
for  a  call,  to  be  sure,  but  she  was  glad,  as  always 
when  we  met,  and  it  suddenly  struck  me  with 
wonder  that  I  had  in  all  confidence  counted  upon 
that  very  look  in  her  eyes. 

I  had  something  of  great  weight  to  put  into 
words,  and  while  trying  to  frame  the  best  convey- 
ance, I  made  sly  passes  at  my  hair  and  plucked 
at  my  cuffs,  as  if  I  had  fallen  into  B.'s  methods. 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         295 

The  night  had  put  such  a  strain  on  me,  and  what 
was  about  to  happen  loomed  so  large,  that  I'd 
thought  nothing  of  my  personal  appearance;  but 
it  was  brought  uppermost  by  the  sight  of  her  sweet 
readiness  of  eye,  that  welcoming  light  that  had 
always  made  her  Laidie  to  me.  And  a  pretty  girl 
is  better  than  a  looking-glass  to  remind  a  man 
to  stand  straight. 

"What  is  it,  Stick?"  she  asked.  And  her  voice 
was  like  the  maple  leaves  shaking  their  fringed 
dresses  for  the  morning  dance  in  the  sunbeams. 

I  forgot  my  hair  and  my  cuffs — and  I  can't  re- 
member one  word  I  said.  Somehow  I  managed  to 
pass  her  the  idea  that  though  I'd  sought  a  wife  for 
two  years,  Somebody's  face  had  kept  floating  be- 
tween my  eyes  and  all  others' — and  that  there  was 
only  One  in  the  world  for  whom  I'd  give  all  the 
rest  of  the  world — there  was  only  One  upon  whom 
I  could  look  with  longing  and  unquestioning  peace 
she  held  a  broom  in  her  hand. 


XXXIX 

//  an  Inherited    Tendency   Breaks   Out  in   Our 
Lives,  It's  Because  We  Left  the  Gate  Open 

WHEN  I  reached  Horseshoe  House  it  was 
half-past  six,  and  William  was  coming  up 
the  path  heavy  from  want  of  sleep  and  slack- 
nerved  from  a  brooding  brain.  There  was  only 
one  medicine  to  reach  his  case,  so  without  stop- 
ping to  offer  useless  specifics,  I  went  on  into  the 
kitchen;  and  in  my  thought-tree  the  birds  were 
singing. 

In  due  time  I  set  him  down  to  a  breakfast  of 
eggs  boiled  to  the  degree  of  his  liking,  potatoes 
fried  in  long  narrow  strips  which  melted  on  the 
tongue,  leaving  nothing  behind  but  a  pleasing 
memory,  piping  hot  cornbread  as  brown  and  ten- 
der as  properly  cooked  fish;  while  in  their  train 
came  a  choice  of  strawberry  preserves  or  real 
maple  syrup  with  a  glass  of  yellow  cream — to  all 
of  which,  of  course,  coffee,  incidental. 

296 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         297 

I  had  never  seen  William  so  downcast  as  when 
we  met  at  table,  but  he  couldn't  stand  out  against 
a  breakfast  like  that,  but  relaxed,  body  and  soul. 

"Enjoy  yourself,"  said  I,  calm,  "for  I  don't  lay 
to  do  much  cooking  after  this  morning." 

He  didn't  ask  what  I  meant — young  folks  have 
little  curiosity  as  to  their  elders'  meanings. 

When  he  had  pushed  back,  I  said:  "Let's  talk 
awhile  about  the  Unintended." 

He  turned  red,  then  pale,  then  started  up 
with  "I  can't.  God  knows  it  would  have  been 
better  for  us  both  if  we'd  never  met." 

"I  saw  her  last  night,"  I  remarked,  casual. 

He  stopped  and  laid  down  the  hat  he  had 
picked  up. 

"And  I  understand,"  said  I,  "that  she'll  be  at 
the  College  about  this  time.  I  mean  to  call  on 
her — and  I  think  she'd  enjoy  my  call  if  you  were 
alongside."  I  looked  at  him  steadily  and  added, 
"I  know  you  are  to  be  trusted." 

He  knew  that,  too,  so  he  didn't  say  anything, 
except  "If  you  think  I  ought.  .  .  ."  Although 
he  was  a  man,  and  felt  the  world's  burden  on  his 
shoulders,  he  had  much  the  same  attitude  toward 
me  as  when  I  used  to  bid  him  bring  in  wood  and 
water.  It  was  his  instinct  not  only  to  obey,  but 


298        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

to  trust  me  with  responsibilities — he'd  never  have 
gone  to  see  the  Unintended  if  left  to  his  own  con- 
science, but  that  I  should  deem  it  proper  cleared 
his  face  as  no  ham  or  cream  in  the  world  could 
have  done. 

So  we  went  to  the  College  without  his  once 
asking  about  my  having  seen  her  on  the  previous 
night — not  a  question  from  him ;  just  a  bright  shin- 
ing of  the  face.  He  must  have  felt  a  good  deal 
like  a  condemned  man  who  has  been  reprieved 
for  one  more  day,  a  feeling,  I  take  it,  pitched 
low  with  no  flags  flying;  true  he  may  live  this 
one  day — but  it's  the  morrow  that  hope  feeds 
upon. 

At  the  big  front  door,  it  was  she  who  met  us 
— she  must  have  been  expecting  me  all  the  while, 
but  William's  presence  she  had  not  anticipated, 
and  was  troubled  thereby.  I  think  they  did  not 
exchange  more  than  the  barest  of  nods,  after 
which  she  looked  away  quickly,  though  I  had  never 
thought  him  handsomer — with  his  pale  face  and 
thrown-back  head,  he  seemed  grand  to  me. 

Seeing  a  sofa  in  the  hall  opposite  the  door,  I 
went  in  to  sit  down,  motioning  her  to  follow,  and 
leaving  William  to  shift  for  himself.  Not  a  word 
did  she  speak,  not  knowing  how  much  I  had 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         299 

guessed,  or  what  William  had  found  out — I  was 
the  only  one  there  at  ease. 

"Are  the  old  maids  at  home?"  I  asked;  "and 
Dahlia,  is  she  on  the  job?" 

She  murmured,  reproachful,  that  after  her  part- 
ing from  William,  she  would  not  have  thought 
he'd  come  again. 

"Father  said  it  would  be  all  right,"  William 
hazarded,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  with  the  look 
of  a  desert-traveler  bidding  an  oasis  farewell. 

If  I  live  to  be  a  hundred,  I'll  never  forget  the 
quiet,  snug  satisfaction  those  few  words  gave  me. 
He  was  unconscious  of  the  compliment — had  be- 
come a  boy  again — my  boy !  But  not  by  the  bat- 
ting of  an  eyelash  would  I  have  shown  my  pride 
in  him;  she  didn't  look  at  him,  either;  at  least, 
didn't  seem  to — but  that  may  have  been  to  let  him 
look  his  fill,  for  though  her  eyes  were  upon  the 
floor,  I  remember  that  she  sat  three-quarters  to- 
ward him. 

The  warm  June  breeze  came  through  the  open- 
ing, and  as  I  stared  across  the  time-worn  floor 
of  the  porch,  and  inhaled  the  perfume  of  yellow 
roses,  I  thought  of  the  many  young  feet  that  had 
tripped  upstairs  to  the  chapel,  or  lingered  on  the 
cracked  stone  step?  and  it  was  for  me,  just  for  a 


300        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

moment,  a  sad  thought  how  those  young  feet  had 
flitted  through  sunshine  and  shade,  and  how  many 
years  ago  that  had  been.  But  though  the  thought 
was  sad,  like  a  cool  shadow  creeping  over  a  sun- 
lit meadow,  it  fell  from  a  small  cloud  and  soon 
passed  away. 

Rousing  myself,  I  asked  if  she  meant  again  to 
order  me  off  her  grass,  at  which  she  smiled  faintly, 
and  began  to  talk.  On  the  death  of  her  uncle, 
she  had  resolved  to  buy  the  College  and  live  in 
Mizzouryville  at  least  until  William  was  married, 
so  she  had  Jim  Bob  act  as  go-between,  and  she 
had  brought  along  the  Companion  as  her  "sis- 
ter." "I  ordered  you  off  the  grass,"  she  ex- 
plained, "because  I  knew  if  you  came  near  you'd 
recognize  me."  I  laughed  a  little  and  patted  her 
arm,  admitting  that  until  I  found  out  who  she  was, 
the  thing  had  rankled — and  that  I'd  found  out 
only  the  night  before,  from  the  ringing  of  the 
College  bell.  She  tried  to  tell — but  her  voice 
was  dulled — what  an  adventure  it  had  seemed  to 
her,  living  in  disguise  in  our  midst,  keeping  house, 
and  all.  I  think  nobody  else  ever  found  it  adven- 
turous to  live  in  Mizzouryville. 

William  was  listening  in  complete  bewilder- 
ment, picking  up  what  we  so  carelessly  tossed 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        301 

down.  She  turned  to  him:  "I  pretended,  that 
night,  to  ride  away  from  your  town  on  the  freight 
train;  but  I  slipped  back  from  the  station,  of 
course,  for  I  was  living  here."  Suddenly  she 
turned  as  red  as  a  rose  and  I  fancy  she  was  re- 
membering how  he  had  called  her  by  the  name  in 
his  heart.  "I  thought  if  you  married  at  church, 
I'd  be  there.  It's  so  strange  to  meet  now,  when 
everything  that  could  be  said  has  been  said — I 
waiwed  you  to  think  of  me  as  riding  away  from 
you  forever.  Now  I'll  have  to  leave  Mizzoury- 
ville  in  earnest,  unless  you  promise  to  keep  my 
secret,  a\d  agree  never  to  come  back." 

"I'll  never  come  again,"  he  told  her,  his  voice 
low  and  steady. 

"No,  you  never,  never "  And  her  voice 

broke  with  sudden  sobs. 

"And  yet,"  said  I,  staring  out  the  doorway, 
"he's  a  likely  young  fellow,  if  I  do  say  sol" 

She  laughed  out,  and  then  began  to  cry  so  vio- 
lently that  I  was  frightened.  It  was  too  much 
for  William — he  just  went  down  on  his  knees 
beside  her  and  put  h&  arms  about  her  shaking 
shoulders. 

"Here,  son,"  said  I,  "take  my  place."  And 
I  got  up. 


302        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

And  he  took  it.  That  boy  always  had  minded 
me. 

She  looked  up  at  me,  the  tears  streaming  down 
her  face,  and  her  cheeks  as  red  as  a  sunset — a 
good  deal  redder  than  they  would  have  been,  like- 
enough,  had  I  been  at  home.  And  she  gasped  out, 
miserable  and  happy,  "Oh,  Stick,  how  could  you, 
how  could  you  do  this — and  after  our  terrible 
wrench  of  parting !  And  Laidie  so  good,  so  nuich 
better  suited  to  make  a  helpful  wife " 

"Yes,  I  think  with  you,"  said  I,  "and  that's 
why  I  mean  to  marry  her." 

William  ceased  to  press  her  head  to  \m  bosom. 
He  was  paralyzed. 

She  fastened  upon  me  those  wonderfully  keen 
and  penetrating  eyes,  her  lips  parted,  her  chin 
slightly  thrust  forward.  No  wonder  William  had 
fallen  in  love  with  the  Unintended.  If  her  form 
had  been  fuller,  and  her  eyes  black,  you  couldn't 
have  beaten  her  in  the  State  of  Missouri. 

It  was  she  who  came  first  to  the  surface  because, 
it  may  be,  women  do  not  dive  so  deep  as  men. 
"Stick,"  she  cried  out,  her  voice  breaking  into  a 
million  little  quivers  of  scintillating  joy,  "you  abso- 
lute darling!" 

"But  what  did  he  say?"  gasped  William,  look- 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED         303 

ing  as  if  he  feared  his  father  had  let  age  go  to 
his  brain.  Such  was  the  turbulence  about  me  from 
the  storm  of  emotions  they  had  thought  never  to 
give  free  play,  that  I  sat  there  like  a  rock  in  the 
spray;  and  the  higher  they  were  wrought  up,  the 
calmer  and  more  judicial  my  speech : 

"I  intended  for  William  to  have  Laidie  as  his 
wife  because  I've  always  meant  for  him  to  have 
of  the  world's  best;  and  when  I  know  what's  best 
for  him,  I  don't  stop  to  ask  if  he  wants  it.  But 
from  a  few  words  he  dropped  last  night  I  learned 
that  he'd  never  be  happy  except  with  the  Unin- 
tended. ^Just  as  soon  as  I  had  grafted  that  idea  on 
my  thought-tree,  everything  was  clear.  'Laidie 
may  not  care  for  me,'  I  told  myself,  'but  for 
years  she's  been  a  preventative  to  my  marrying.' 
I'd  tried  to  tear  the  feeling  out  of  my  heart,  and 
the  deeper  it  burned  for  Laidie,  the  more  fixed  I 
was  that  William  should  have  her.  But  this  morn- 
ing I  went  to  break  the  news  to  her  that  William 
loved  another,  knowing  he'd  never  tell  her,  and  I 
found  that  she  had  held  to  him  only  through  a 
sense  of  duty  and  from  thinking  it  my  wish.  And 
the  minute  I  held  out  arms  big  enough  to  hold 
her,  she  came  right  into  them " 

"Father!"  cried  William,  leaping  to  his  feet; 


3o4        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

and,  grabbing  me  about  the  middle,  he  gave  me 
a  man's  hug.  Tears  were  in  their  eyes,  and  such 
smiles  on  their  faces  as  brought  tears  to  mine. 
They  couldn't  sit  still;  but  when  they  stood  up, 
they  sat  down  to  stand  up  again.  Stick  Attum 
was  a  great  man,  just  then!  For  awhile  there 
was  a  deal  of  breathless  talk  and  happy  excite- 
ment and  after  we'd  quieted  down,  a  realization 
of  the  true  state  of  affairs  brought  on  another 
delirious  storm  of  questions  and  explanations. 

But  presently,  the  light  faded  from  the  Un- 
intended's  face,  and  her  lips  began  to  quiver  when 
she  said:  "And  now  I  must  tell  the  name  that 
I  left  at  home,  and,  oh,  I  wonder  how  much  dif- 
ference it'll  make,  when  you  hear  it?" 

I  stood  before  them,  with  my  arm  outstretched. 
"Let  me  spare  you,  my  dear,"  I  said.  "I'll  tell 
your  story  in  a  few  words,  and  as  it's  all  un- 
known to  William,  I  challenge  you  to  watch  him 
while  I  speak,  and  learn  just  what  manner  of  man 
he  is." 

William  looked  from  me  to  her  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"When  I  found  you  in  the  shop  last  night," 
said  I,  watching  her  as  she  watched  William,  "I 
saw  in  a  flash  that  you  were  the  'Boy  Desperado' 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        305 

who  had  so  cunningly  and  artfully  escaped  me  in 
the  woods.  You  held  a  horse  unknown  to  me, 
therefore  brought  from  a  distance.  And  when 
you  said  "Father?"  I  knew  you  were  waiting  there 
for  the  outlaw;  that  you  were  his  child;  and  that 
Flitter/led  was  the  name  you  had  left  at  home.  I 
asked  myself  how  the  outlaw  would  know  when 
to  come  for  the  horse,  and  remembered  the  ring- 
ing of  the  College  bell,  which  told  me  that  you 
were  the  new  tenant  of  the  College.  I  threw  my 
mind  back  into  the  past,  and  remembered  that 
Giles  Flitterfled  had  married  one  of  my  old  school- 
mates, and  that  he  had  been  divorced  when  she 
learned  what  he  was.  You  were  ashamed  to  be 
known  as  Flitterfled's  daughter,  and,  inheriting 
his  lust  of  adventure,  you  came  here  to  escape  the 
looks  people  cast  at  you  who  knew  of  your  origin." 

"The  truth  killed  my  mother  by  inches,"  she 
whispered.  "It  made  a  tragedy  of  my  girlhood; 
it  embittered  my  uncle  for  life.  Yes,  that's  why 
I  couldn't  tell  you  my  name — I  was  ashamed." 

"I'll  give  you  a  name  nobody  was  ever  ashamed 
of,"  says  William,  speaking  like  a  true  Attum, 
and  making  no  more  of  what  I  had  said  (at  least 
so  far  as  we  could  see)  than  of  the  breeze  in  the 
maples. 


306        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

She  had  drawn  far  away  from  him,  but  now  she 
crept  back  with  a  pitiful  little  sob,  saying,  "I  in- 
tended never  to  marry.  I  was  afraid  his  nature 
might  break  out  in  me — I  am  so  like  him.  But 
when  I  heard  how  he  was  being  starved,  I  risked 
everything  to  take  him  food  and  a  disguise — but 
not  until  he  was  about  to  ride  away  did  he  learn 
who  I  am.  Then  I  told  him — there  at  the  shop 
door — and  he  broke  down — and  made  prom- 


ises. 

M 


In  my  opinion,"  said  William,  "nothing  breaks 
out  in  our  natures  unless  we  leave  open  the  gate 
to  it.  Your  father  holds  people  up,  while  it  con- 
tents you  to  capture  hearts " 

"Just  one,"  she  protested,  brightening  wonder- 
fully under  his  common-sense  treatment  of  the 
case. 

"And  you  love  to  wander " 

"But  not  from  you — never  from  you  I"  And 
then  she  demonstrated,  paying  no  more  attention 
to  me  than  if  I  had  been  the  cedar  tree  under  the 
south  window.  She  went  on,  muffled,  "Uncle  was 
always  afraid  my  father  would  discover  a  trace 
of  me;  that's  why  we  lived  such  secluded  lives. 
My  father — you  may  say  what  you  please — and 
I  know  it's  dreadful,  but — he's  a  man,  all  right!" 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        307 

And  her  eyes  flashed.  She  laughed  a  little 
shakenly  at  his  look,  then  grew  very  still. 

"Last  night,"  said  William,  "when  I  thought 
you  a  troublesome  boy,  I  threw  you  down  pretty 
hard,  I'm  afraid.  Did  I  hurt  you  very  much?" 

"It  doesn't  matter,"  she  laughed.  "You 
strained  my  ankle  a  little,  so  that  I  limp  when  I 
forget — but  that's  nothing." 

"Which  ankle?"  he  asked,  filled  with  contrition; 
and  he  knelt  down  at  her  feet. 

I  stepped  outdoors  to  look  at  the  birds. 


XL 


"Realism"  Is  to  Enjoy  the  Good  Things  of  Life 
From  the  Money  You  Make  by  Writing  Books 
to  Show  That  Life  Is  a  Vale  of  Tears 

WELL,  there's  nothing  duller  to  me  than 
the  explanations  of  the  mysteries  in  the 
books  in  the  smokehouse — books  that  have  held 
my  hands  gripped  to  their  edges  through  a  sea  of 
printed  words.  For  during  the  voyage,  with  noth- 
ing between  the  reader  and  dullness  save  that  il- 
lustrated volume,  one  clings  to  it  as  to  a  saving 
friend;  but  on  making  port,  one  wakens  to  the 
fact  that  the  characters  never  lived  save  in  the 
brain  of  some  man  or  woman  seated  at  his  type- 
writer, making  one  hero  rich  and  another  poor  by 
merely  knocking  upon  the  keys. 

But  in  real  life,  explanations  are  sweet  morsels 
on  the  tongue.  When  the  Unintended  became  the 
Intended — why,  that  morning  was  one  of  the  most 

308 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        309 

interesting  that  ever  I  drew  out  of  time's  scrap- 
bag. 

The  interest  promised  to  last,  too.  When  your 
son  marries  into  a  family  that  may  wake  up  any 
morning  to  find  itself  in  three  columns  on  a  front 
page,  there's  no  cut-and-dried  future  in  store.  But 
Giles  Flitterfled,  as  Giles  Flitterfled,  was  never 
seen  after  the  night  he  rode  from  my  shop  on 
the  horse  procured  for  him  by  the  girl-out-of-the- 
common. 

It  has  often  hung  in  my  thought-tree  half-ripe, 
therefore  not  ready  to  be  handed  out  in  spoken 
words,  that  out  of  remorse  and  out  of  pity  for 
his  daughter,  he  turned  over  a  new  leaf  (taking, 
however,  his  stolen  booty  to  help  him  wet  his  fin- 
ger) and  that  he  went  to  a  new  country,  and  fol 
lowed  honest  and  uninteresting  ways,  losing  him 
self  amongst  the  millions  who  do  not  blow  them' 
selves  to  fame  with  dynamite. 

We  have  always  been  sure  that  the  wedding 
present  from  "Unknown"  came  from  the  ex-out- 
law. It  was  just  a  scrap  of  poetry  on  a  bit  of 
paper  with  sentiment  to  the  effect  that  while 
"Well  Wisher"  was  barred  from  being  of  active 
service  to  William  and  bride,  he  had  the  negative 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  never,  so  long  as  he 


310        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

lived,  would  he  do  them  any  harm.  If  "Un- 
known" was  her  father,  no  doubt  he  told  himself 
that  any  present  sent  in  the  form  of  gold  or  silver 
or  precious  stone,  might  stir  up  untoward  reflec- 
tions upon  property  rights.  And  while  not  put- 
ting myself  forward  as  a  literary  judge,  I  am 
persuaded  that  the  stanzas  were  neither  borrowed 
nor  stolen,  but  honey  out  of  his  own  wax;  for  his 
cunning  was  lost  when  he  laid  aside  his  gun  for 
his  pen;  but  the  sentiment,  noble. 

Let  it  be  said  at  this  place,  that  it  be  not  held 
to  leave  a  bad  taste  in  the  mouth,  that  Octavius 
Selwyn  no  more  died  than  have  other  characters 
such  as  one  might  wish  would,  but  took  his  soul 
and  his  soul  mate  to  more  lucrative  fields — for 
Mizzouryville  was  sucked  as  dry  as  a  bone.  We 
were  two  thousand  then,  but  at  this  day — some 
years  later — are  only  fifteen  hundred,  a  third  of 
these  negroes,  but  more  than  enough  whites,  there 
being  a  few  (but  not  monied  men)  who  still  cock 
their  ears  when  a  New  Railroad  is  mentioned. 

When  William  married,  Dahlia  Gleason  went 
to  keep  house  for  the  young  couple  in  their  city 
home,  and  has  never  come  back  even  on  a  visit. 
It  must  be  a  satisfaction  to  her  for  Zenia  to  know 
she  and  Lane  Laclede  never  see  each  other;  to 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        311 

her  mind,  it's  a  continuous  proof  of  her  inno- 
cence as  to  Taggart's  death.  I  don't  know  if  Lane 
has  given  up  the  thought  of  one  day  persuading 
Dahlia  to  be  his  wife,  but  I  do  know  that  he  is 
the  oldest-looking  man  for  his  age  I  ever  met. 
However,  they  all  look  old  on  Old  Settlers'  Bench, 
and  it  isn't  because  the  street-dust  is  always  blow- 
ing over  them,  either;  it's  from  the  pure  passage 
of  years.  There's  old  Captain  Little  Dave  Over- 
street — nobody  thought  he'd  be  living  at  this  day; 
but  he  is,  and  says  he  aims  to  make  his  hundred. 

William  has  kept  the  old  College  for  his  sum- 
mer outings.  Once  a  year  he  and  his  wife  come 
down  to  spend  six  weeks,  and  there  are  great 
doings,  they  running  into  Horseshoe  House  at  any 
hour  (turning  it  upside  down)  and  Laidie  making 
as  free  over  there,  though  no  great  roamer.  On 
Sunday  afternoons,  we  join  in  expeditions  to  the 
Mineral  Springs  and  explore  the  arrogant  weeds 
and  impudent  blackberry  bushes  that  have  over- 
run the  "streets"  and  "parks"  of  the  once-imag- 
ined "Bigger  Mizzouryville."  To  hoist  any  sort 
of  boom  in  our  town  nowadays  would  call  for  a 
kind  of  block-and-tackle  not  yet  invented. 

Sometimes  I  sit  beside  my  hearth  while  our  lit- 
tle boy  (trained  from  the  cradle  to  be  orderly) 


3i2        HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED 

is  gathering  up  the  toys  William's  young  hopeful 
has  scattered  from  garret  to  cellar,  while  Laidie 
folds  up  the  towels  and  papers  and  what  not  that 
William's  wife  has  strewn  in  her  wake — and  the 
birds  in  my  thought-tree  begin  singing  one  of  na- 
ture's hymns. 

It's  a  great  old  world  if  you  have  eyes  for  its 
greatness,  and  it'll  treat  you  just  about  as  well  as 
you  treat  it.  There  are  books  in  the  smokehouse 
that  say  otherwise,  but  take  it  from  Stick  Attum, 
a  rose  is  just  as  real  as  a  mud-puddle,  and  funeral 
dirges  are  no  truer  to  life  than  the  silver  chimes 
of  a  wedding  anniversary. 

Our  little  fellow  is  named  Bill.  It  was  my  first 
son's  name,  and  we  have  simply  picked  up  what 
he  laid  aside.  William's  son  is  Aristarchus.  He 
says  the  child  was  named  after  me,  but  I've  never 
been  able  to  find  "Stick"  in  that  wilderness  of  let- 
ters. Speaking  of  names — I've  never  heard  Wil- 
liam call  his  wife  anything  but  some  joking  nick- 
name, such  as  "Despy,"  for  Desperado,  or  "Cer- 
eus"  for  night-bloomer;  and  when  he  comes  seek- 
ing her,  he's  apt  to  call,  "Where's  that  girl-out-of- 
the-common?"  or,  "Have  you  seen  anything  of 
Miss  Wisdom?"  But  when  they  are  alone,  I 
fancy  he  grows  tender  with  the  name  that  is  in 


HIS  DEAR  UNINTENDED        313 

his  heart.  For  it's  just  so  with  me — as  my  wife 
and  I  go  walking  in  the  fields,  or  down  the  village 
streets  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  I  give  her  other 
names  than  "Laidie" — and  Adelaide  is  not  one  of 
them. 


THE   END 


474     7 


